


Physics Bros Ficlets

by Leen_Moufti



Category: Axiom Verge (Video Game)
Genre: Advice, Alcohol, Birthday, Bullying, Cast filler ocs, Caught in the Rain, Comfort, Cuddling, Dates, Dating, Drunk karaoke, Ficlets, First Meeting, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Karaoke, Making Friends, Physics Bros, Pillow Fight, Road Trip, Sharing secrets, Shorts, Sports, Star Wars References, movie marathons, oneshots, will update tags as I update the story, wingman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-10-17 05:15:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 22,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17554052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leen_Moufti/pseuds/Leen_Moufti
Summary: Some oneshots starring two best bros, Trace Eschenbrenner and Doctor Hammond.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The starter sentence is from a list by Tumblr user memeasaurus-promptus, and was suggested to me by Angi_K!

"You've been asleep for the past twelve hours and I got a little worried, "Hammond said, gently shaking Trace's shoulder to wake him up.

Trace sniffled as Hammond placed the bowl of soup on the nightstand, the porcelain of the bowl clicking against the wood.

"*sniff* Can I- can I go back to sleep?" The man asked, his voice muffled due to the fact that half of his face was buried in his pillow.

"Sorry, buddy, but you can't get better on just sleep alone. Besides, you'll get hungry. Now sit up so that you can eat it."

Reluctantly, Trace sat up, his body shuddering as he let out harsh, throaty coughs.

"Ugh..." he moaned as he picked up the soup bowl. "Hammond?"

"Yeah?"

"I hate being sick," Trace groaned. 

"You and me both, buddy. You and me, both."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Occasionally, I write ficlets starring these two every now and then, so I figured I'd put 'em up here when I write them! I'll occasionally update this when I write something new.


	2. Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My first entry of Brotp March 2019 on Tumblr!

"Hey, uh, Trace?"

Trace looked up from the sheets of paper on his desk, momentarily putting his work on hold to look up at his friend.

Hammond stood there, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck and not looking at Trace as he asked, "Can I... Can I ask you for a bit of advice?"

Trace nodded, taking note of Hammond's hesitance as the man asked, "How do you- how do you deal with... With... Well, all _this_?"

Hammond gestured to the sheets of paper on Trace's desk, calculations that meant nothing but incomprehensible gibberish to anyone who wasn't a physicist scrawled all over them.

"Oh, this stuff?" Trace asked, slightly confused at the question as he looked back at the papers and scratched his head. Was Hammond having difficulty with the calculations?

Odd. They seemed pretty easily understandable. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and began to speak. "Well, to start with-"

"No, no," Hammond interrupted, shaking his head as he raised his hand, signaling Trace to stop talking. "What I mean is, how do you deal with something new like this?"

Trace raised an eyebrow as he looked back up from the papers.

"What do you mean? These aren't new calculations. Do you not understand them?"

"That's not what I meant. And of course I understand them, Trace. We were briefed on the experiment we had to use them as a reference for, last week. What I mean is, well, how do you deal with the fact that... the fact that we have this job now?"

Trace blinked in slight confusion.

"What?"

"Well..." Hammond's voice trailed off as he racked his brain to find a proper way to ask the question. Finding only one way he could ask, he sighed, and pulled up a swivel chair to sit next to Trace.

"I know," Hammond said, avoiding making eye contact with Trace, "that it took a pretty long time for us to find this job, and heck, what a miracle that it's the one job we've always wanted, right? I know that we've only been hired for about three weeks, and I probably shouldn't be worried, but... how do seem so... calm about this new job?"

"Calm?"

"Yeah, I mean... How come you aren't a bit scared?"

"Eh? Why would I be scared?"

"Well... Trace, I won't lie. You always seem so calm about some things. Like, new changes, for example. When I first met you at school, for instance, you didn't look scared or nervous at all when being the new kid. Heck, even when choosing a college, you didn't seem anxious or worried about it. You more or less just seemed mildly uncertain," Hammond explained.

Hammond awkwardly shifted in his seat as he sighed and finally made eye contact with Trace, his blue eyes meeting with Trace's hazel eyes.

"I wanted to ask you for some advice on... how to not be nervous about big changes like this," Hammond finally forced himself to ask.

It took a while for Trace to process the question, until he asked, in complete bewilderment, "You think I never get nervous about things like this?"

"Admittedly.... yeah."

Trace sighed, rubbing his temples as he leaned back in his swivel chair, causing it to creak a bit under his weight.

Admittedly, he did get nervous. A _lot_ , actually.

He was just really damn good at keeping it hidden.

Especially from those closest to him.

"Hammond, of course I get nervous.... Heck, I'm a little nervous for this job."

' _Liar, you're not just a little nervous. You're **seriously** scared about losing this job_,' he mentally told himself, remembering how hard it was to finally become a physicist after years of studying.

"Really?" Hammond said, sounding a small bit surprised at the fact that Trace Eschenbrenner, one of the calmest, cool and collected people on the planet just admitted to him that he was a small bit nervous.

"Of course! I mean, heck, I'm nervous, but I'm not panicking!"

' _Your internal emotions during the job interview would say otherwise_ ,' he reminded himself.

"But- but how come you always seem so calm about these sorts of situations?"

"I don't panic, but I'm such a tiny bit nervous that it barely shows."

' _Actually, you just bottle it up, but okay, I guess. Whatever you feel better about telling yourself._ '

Hammond opened his mouth in slight surprise at how calm Trace seemed.

"I... I'm kind of scared about messing up and losing this job," Hammond admitted. "Can you... Can you tell me how you don't freak out too much?"

Trace scratched his sideburn and thought for a moment, before giving what he thought would be the best advice.

"Hmm... Hammond, it's pretty understandable that you're feeling a bit anxious about this, but you don't have to be. Things have been going pretty well for us, no? Look at us. We studied, went to college, studied more, got our degrees, had a couple of temp jobs, and then got this job! Who's to say things will stop going well after this?"

Trace put on a small smile to reassure Hammond, as he continued, "So here's my advice. Don't worry, just relax. Getting this job was hard, but we still got it. We prepared for it, had the job interview, and got the job, and we're more than qualified to do the work, so we have nothing to worry about."

Hammond was silent for a moment, looking down as he thought of Trace's words, before he looked back up and smiled.

"That... That's pretty good advice, Trace!" Hammond said, his eyes lighting up as he stood up from the chair. "C'mon! Let's go work on that experiment!"

And with that, Hammond was gone, running to the lab as Trace got up and walked, following behind.

Come to think of it, that actually was some pretty alright advice.

Though, knowing himself, he probably wouldn't take it.


	3. Wingman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Holy crap this was the hardest thing I've ever had to write.)

The first sign that something was a tiny bit off was the longing look in Hammond's eyes every time as he looked out the window whenever he and Trace were driving home from work.

It wasn't that Trace didn't notice.

He _did_ notice Hammond lying against the passenger seat, sighing as he stared out the window.

He did notice, but didn't know enough about it to bother asking why Hammond did this.

Prying Hammond for details about anything that was possibly on his mind usually resulted in Hammond trying to hide it more, so Trace usually just waited until Hammond felt comfortable talking to him about it.

That is, until he took a closer look at what exactly Hammond was looking at.

He was looking at couples.

Old couples, passing parents carrying children on their shoulders, teenage couples. Every kind of couple you could imagine.

The second sign that something was off was the sad look on his face that Trace could see when he looked at Hammond's face in the rear view mirror.

So, one day, Trace decided to try to see what was up.

Finding the opportunity to take his eyes off the road for a minute when the traffic light turned red, he tapped Hammond on the shoulder just as a couple had passed by.

Hammond's shoulders tensed up for a second, before relaxing when he heard Trace say, "Hey, Hammond?"

Hammond turned to face Trace, that look of longing on his face contorting into a neutral expression.

"Yeah, Trace?" Hammond asked, as Trace's hand left his shoulder to go back to the steering wheel.

Trace, not sure if he should ask Hammond anything too specific, chose to simply ask him the generic question, "Are you okay?"

Hammond tilted his head in slight confusion, and asked, "Uh, yeah! Why?"

Drumming his fingers against the steering wheel and pressing down his foot on the pedal as the light turned green, Trace shrugged and answered, "I don't know, you've been seeming pretty down lately. Not to mention you've been staring out of that window without saying a word to me for the past hour."

"It's... It's been an hour?" Hammond asked, bewildered as he checked the car's clock to confirm that an hour had passed since Trace started to drive home.

Trace was right. It had been an hour.

"Yeah.... Hammond, is something wrong?" Trace asked, choosing not to specifically ask Hammond why he seemed particularly gloomy when looking at couples.

"Is... Is something wrong? N-Nah, Trace, I'm fine!" Hammond stuttered, clearly lying.

Trace sighed as he stepped on the brake, abiding by road safety rules when the traffic light in front of the car turned red.

Trace would never say it out loud, but Hammond was pretty terrible at hiding how he truly felt about things.

Not that Trace didn't understand his need to hide his feelings; heck, Trace himself was guilty of hiding feelings a lot of the time.

He just happened to be a lot better at it than Hammond.

Trace looked over to Hammond as they waited for the light to turn green again.

"Hammond, listen. If anything's wrong, then you can tell me, alright?"

Hammond awkwardly fumbled with the car's radio as he answered, "Y-yeah, thanks.... Wake me up when we get home."

Flopping back against the car seat, Hammond closed his eyes, preparing to sleep until they reached home.

Trace shook his head, ignoring the hypocrisy of wanting Hammond to be more open while he himself was not the most open person either.

Humming along to the tune of whatever the hell that cheesy pop song playing on the radio was called, Trace stepped on the pedal and continued to drive home. 

* * *

 

"Hey, uh, Trace?"

"Hmm?" Trace asked, his mouth full of takeout with a noodle poking out of his mouth as he looked at Hammond sitting across from him at the table.

Looking down and poking at the untouched noodles in his takeout box, Hammond seemed almost hesitant to ask, "Do you... Do you know anyone who's single?"

Ah, he was starting to talk about what was bothering him.

Swallowing his food, Trace nodded.

"I think so, yeah. Why?"

Hammond just sighed as he took a small bite of his food and ignored the question, before asking his own question.

"Hypothetically speaking, do you think they might be... willing to go on a date with someone to see how it would go?"

Not sure whether or not that was an answer to what he had just asked, Trace shrugged and responded, "Probably."

"Yeah..." Hammond mumbled, finally looking up at Trace. "Do you... Do you think any of them might be interested in me.... romantically-speaking?"

"Uh... Perhaps?"

"...God, I can't believe I'm asking this," Hammond muttered, visibly cringing. "Trace, can you... ask any of them if... if they might like to go on a date... with me..?"

Trace was silent, completely unsure about how to respond. Getting up from his chair, he picked up his takeout box and left to go to his room.

"I'll see what I can do."

Hammond was left alone at the table, wondering if he had said something wrong.

Once in his room, Trace rummaged through his lab coat pockets until he found his flip phone.

After dialling the number of one of his coworkers at an old temp job, he raised the phone to his ear and waited.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three ri-

"Oh, hey, Sheila!" Trace greeted, once the person on the other line had picked up. "Yeah, heh, it's pretty late... Hey, Sheila? You told me a few days ago that you wanted to mingle? Go out with someone and see how it goes?... Yeah, so hey, do you remember Hammond?"

 

* * *

  
Hammond could not believe he was doing this.

The only reason he wasn't acting like a coward and running the hell away was because he was sandwiched between two people in a queue.

One of those people being Trace.

As the person in front of them left, the person at the reception desk that was also in front of them greeted, "Good evening! What's the name of your reservation?"

"Uh, Warner-Adams," Hammond forced himself to say, somewhat intimidated by how fancy the restaurant was.

"Ah, Mr. Warner! Ms. Adams is already at your table. It's right over there by the bar. Have a good dinner!"

Oh, God. She was already there.  
  
Hammond looked at Trace, who was waiting patiently to go to his own table.

"Don't worry, buddy," Trace reassured. "It'll be fine. Here's to hoping things go well!"

Here's to hoping, indeed, Hammond thought, anxiously walking to his table, as Trace sat at another one a few feet away.

  
The first hour went off without a hitch.

Trace could see Hammond and Sheila talking normally, not having a really great time, but not having a bad one either.

The second hour was when things started to go a bit awry.

They still talked, but Hammond began to look noticeably... uncomfortable.

Not nervous or uncertain, but just like he flat-out did not want to be there.

Unsure if he should butt in and see what was wrong or if he should just stay out of things, Trace decided to head to the toilet for a moment.

Once he came back, he was surprised to find that the table was empty.

"The heck?" Trace wondered, calling over a waiter. "Hey, where did they go?"

"Oh, Mr. Warner and Ms. Adams? They left."

Left?! Without Hammond even saying goodbye?

Thanking the waiter, Trace exited the restaurant, and began getting soaked by the pouring rain.

"HAMMOND! Hammond, where are you?!"

"I'm right here, Trace."

Trace looked down to see Hammond sitting on the edge of the curb, completely drenched.

"Hammond? What are you doing out here? Where's Sheila?"

"She left. Said she didn't feel like this would work out," Hammond flatly answered, hugging his knees. "It's alright. Not like I thought this would work out, anyway."

Trace sat down next to Hammond, cringing as he felt water from the ground seeping into the back of his pants.

"Hey... It's okay, Hammond," Trace comforted, patting him on the back. "I'm sure things'll work out next time."

"I guess.... Trace? Can I tell you why I asked if you knew anyone who might want to date me like this?"

"Of course."

"Okay, so for a while, I've been feeling kind of... lonely. You see all these people walking across the street. They're a couple, they're a family, they... they're happy, and I guess that... that kind of made me feel a bit... envious."

Trace wasn't sure what to say to that. He was seriously not prepared at all.

So, he chose to say, in an attempt to comfort Hammond, "Hammond... I'm sorry about that, but listen... Even if things don't work out the first time, there's always the second try. And the third try. And sometimes it takes a lot more than that, but it all leads up to something great in the end. I know you're bummed, but use this as a stepping stone to get closer to that great ending, okay?"

It took a moment, but Hammond's sad frown turned into a small smile, and he looked at Trace.

"Heh... Thanks, Trace."

"Anytime, buddy. We're getting pretty soaked. Wanna go home?"

"Yeah."


	4. First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaand here's prompt number three!

Hammond sucked in a sharp intake of breath through his gritted teeth as the side of his head made contact with the locker door.

The cold metal bit at his cheek, and he tried to ignore the pain as his bullies laughed, with one of them being the one pressing his face to the locker door.

"So," Aaron, the one pressing his face to the locker, casually asked, "how's life?"

"Peachy," Hammond mumbled sarcastically, trying to fight against Aaron's grip, but failing. "Let me go!"

"Hmm..." Aaron muttered, pretending to think for a moment before letting go of Hammond's head, and then slamming it back onto the locker. "Nah!"

"Ow!" Hammond cried out as Aaron and his gang laughed at him, only for their laughter to be interrupted by the bell ringing.

They ceased their laughter, with Aaron announcing, "Would you look at that! Saved by the bell, eh, Hamm?" before finally letting go of Hammond.

Hammond immediately tried to sprint away from Aaron, only to be yanked back by the back of his shirt collar.

"Ack! H-hey, what're you doing?! Lemme go!" Hammond yelled as he was pulled back.

"Aww, leaving so soon? Hey, Don?" Aaron asked one of the other bullies. "How bout we spice things up a bit and use your locker this time?"

"Heh, sure thing, Aaron," Don replied, pulling Hammond towards a locker as Aaron opened the door.

Hammond squirmed, but he could barely put up a fight against Don's grip as he was dragged to the locker.

"No, no, no, please, no!" Hammond begged, getting closer and closer to the locker. "Please! Not agai- OOF!"

Don practically threw Hammond into the locker, before throwing Hammond's backpack in after him and slamming the door shut, then locking it.

Hammond was left stuck, with his back on the bottom of the locker, his head uncomfortably pressed on the back of the locker, and his knees in the air, with his feet on the door.

"Hey!" Hammond yelled, mostly unable to move due to being crammed in the locker with his backpack, a boatload of books, and an athlete's jacket. He could easily hear Aaron and his gang laughing at his expense. "C'mon, guys! This isn't funny! Let me out of here!"

The laughter didn't stop, but it lowered in volume as they walked away.

"We better go now! Seeya, Hamm!"

"But- but you can't just leave me in here! I'll be late for class!" Hammond protested as they left.

"Ah, don't worry! I'm sure Mr. A wouldn't mind you being a small bit late! Bye!"

"Wait! Don't just leave me here! Let me out, LET ME OUT!"

Hammond began to bang his feet against the locker door, as if that would do anything at all to improve his current situation.

Spoiler alert: It did not do anything.

"C'mon! Hello! Is anyone there?! Please! Get me out of here! P-please... Please get me out of here..."

* * *

"Alright, class. That's all for- Warner, you're late. Again."

Hammond stood in the doorway, huffing and puffing as he held onto the doorframe for support.

"Y-yeah," he stuttered, tired from running all the way from the locker to class, and trying to ignore the murmurs of his classmates as Mr. A looked at him in disappointment.

Thank God that a janitor had been passing by a short while after he had crammed into that locker.

A short while that was about forty minutes long.

"Hammond, why are you late?"

Oh God, it was _that_ question.

"I-"

Sitting in the back of the class, Aaron forced a cough, signalling Hammond to shut up about what happened. That icy glare of his only served to get his point across even more.

"... I'm sorry, sir," he ended up mumbling, unable to look his teacher in the eyes.

"Hammond, you of all people should know that I do not accept simple apologies for excessive tardiness. Go sit down and prepare for your next class; we've finished our work for this one, and you have fifteen minutes of free time."

Hammond glumly nodded and walked to his desk, then started to take out his books for the next class.

"Oh, and one more thing."

"Yes, sir?"

"You're going to stay in class during your lunch break to catch up on what you missed. Also, you'll be staying after school for an hour of detention due to your excessive tardiness."

Hammond's grip on one of his books tightened as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

"I... I understand, sir."

"Good... Yes, Trace?"

Hammond looked up at Mr. A to see him addressing another student.

A new student who Hammond has never seen before.

"Sorry for interrupting, but what class do we have next? I forgot to double-check the class schedule."

He had a hint of German in his accent, but it was barely noticeable unless one really paid attention.

His dark brown mane of hair was barely-kempt, he had hazel eyes, and he wore a red hoodie.

"Ah, let's see now... We've got... physics! Take out your physics books, Trace."

The new student nodded and rummaged through his backpack until he pulled out three boo-

Wait, three?

Hammond only had two- Crap.

"Uh, sir?" Hammond meekly asked, raising his hand.

The teacher sighed. "What is it now, Hammond?"

"I, uh... I think I forgot one of my books."

Shaking his head in disapproval, Mr. A gestured to the discipline sheet, and said, "Sorry, Hammond, but I'll have to write you down for that. Okay, class, we have ten minutes left until physics, so-"

Hammond didn't pay attention to what Mr. A said after the word, "that." The only thing he was focusing on was the new student.

A new student... A new student!

A new opportunity to possibly finally make a friend!

Maybe, he liked the same comics too! Maybe, he-

A sudden thought stopped Hammond from being to think of anything else, except, 'Maybe, Aaron hasn't got to him first.'

* * *

  
The next day, the first thing Hammond wanted to do was talk to that new student.

What was his name again...? Oh, yeah, right! It was Trace!

Not spotting Aaron or his crew anywhere, Hammond entered his classroom-

Only to see Aaron speaking to Trace, who seemed to be listening semi-attentively.

It was obvious what Aaron was saying.

Mainly since he wasn't even whispering it. He was saying it out loud, clear enough for Hammond to hear.

"Right, so there are a bunch of people 'round here that you gotta avoid. First off, you got that Warner guy. God, what a weirdo."

Hammond didn't need to hear any more after that. He just walked over to his desk, sat down, and tried not to sniffle as he set his head down on the desk.

"Damn it..." he mumbled. Why... Why did Aaron have to ruin his chance at finally making a friend...?

* * *

  
"Warner, for the love of God! Why are you late again?! The bell is just about to ring!" Mr. A furiously yelled, his face red as a beet.

"I'm sorry, sir!" Hammond apologized, "I'm-"

"NO! No more excuses, Hammond! The principal's office! Now!"

"But- but-"

Aaron coughed that damned cough, assuming that Hammond would listen to his common sense and shut up.

"No buts! You've been given enough chances! This is the last straw, Hammond! You're getting suspended!"

"BUT I'M LATE BECAUSE AARON BAXTER SHOVED ME IN HIS LOCKER!" Hammond frantically yelled, a lot louder than he intended to.

Mr. A froze.

Everyone was silent.

Aaron had a look of shock on his face, and if looks could kill, Hammond would be six feet under because of the expression of unbridled anger that Aaron's shocked face contorted into.

Mr. A looked at Aaron thoughtfully. He had little reason to believe Hammond, but he sounded genuinely sincere.

Giving it a moment of thought, he looked back at Hammond and regained his composure before calmly saying, "Please take a seat, Hammond. I will look into this matter later."

Shakily nodding, Hammond trudged to his seat, feeling Aaron's eyes bore into his skull as he realized he might have just made a terrible mistake.

* * *

  
It was exactly a day later when Hammond payed for his outburst.

As he shoved his backpack into his locker, he was yanked back by the shirt collar.

"Ack! What the-"

"You."

Hammond's blood ran cold as he heard Aaron's voice.

"What the hell did I say would happen if you ever told anyone about those little locker incidents?"

It was a rhetorical question, because Hammond didn't have time to answer before Aaron slapped him in the face and shoved him against the locker, pinning him to it.

"Aaron, please!" Hammond begged, "I'm sorry! I'm-"

"Shut it!" Aaron yelled, towering over Hammond by at least a foot.

Hammond closed his eyes, bracing himself for a punch in his face.

"Hey, stop!"

The punch never came, and he opened his eyes to see who had yelled.

It was the new kid.

"Leave him alone," he demanded.

"Oh, hey, Trace!" Aaron casually greeted Trace.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, me? I'm just putting the weirdo in his pla-"

"Let him go."

"What..?"

"You heard me. I said to let him go."

Aaron stared at Trace, with his mouth agape. "Dude, seriously?"

"Yes, seriously. Now, get out of here and leave him alone. Unless you want to stand here long enough for a teacher to wander by."

Aaron clenched his fist, but relented and flatly said, "Fine," before letting go of Hammond, and walking away, glaring daggers at Trace.

Hammond leaned against the locker, his heart beating quicker than it ever had before.

Did... Did someone just-

"Hey," Trace concernedly asked, tapping him on the shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Did someone just stick up for him?

Hammond looked up at Trace.

"Y-yeah, I th-think so... Thank you," Hammond stammered.

Trace smiled a small bit, mainly to try and cheer Hammond up, before asking, "You're... You're Hammond, right?"

Hammond nodded, before remembering something.

Oh, crap. Aaron already spoke to Trace before. Trace was probably going to judge him and think he was-

He stuck out a hand for Hammond to shake.

"Cool! My name's Trace! So, what do you-"

"You think I'm weird, don't you?"

Trace blinked, noticeably taken aback.

"What?!"

Hammond looked down at the ground and started to mumble.

"I... I saw Aaron talking to you before, and- and-"

"That guy? That Baxter guy's a real jerk!"

Hammond looked up, surprised as Trace continued, "God, all that stuff he was saying about you, it was horrible!"

"You... didn't agree with what he said?"

"Of course, not! If anything, I told that guy to bug off because he was being such a jerk! Say, I always see you alone during breaks. Do you ever hang out with anyone?"

"...N-no..." Hammond admitted. "I haven't really got any friends at all..."

"How come? You seem like a pretty okay person."

"They... They all think I'm weird..."

"I don't."

"You... You don't?"

"Why would I?" Trace asked, tilting his head.

"Because Aaron-"

"Aaron, schmaron! To hell with whatever that guy says!" Trace interrupted, before asking, "So... You don't have any friends?"

"Not a single one..."

"Do you wanna be friends?"

Hammond's eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

"R-Really?"

"Yeah! I mean, if you want to-"

"N-no! I mean, yes! I mean, I do wanna be friends with you, Trace! I do!"

Hammond could hardly believe it. Finally, a friend!

"Aww, that's great!" Trace responded, grinning at Hammond's eagerness. "I... haven't really met any decent person to be friends with here either, so you're my first friend here! Hey, do you like sci-fi movies?"

"I love sci-fi movies!" Hammond answered, unable to restrain his excitement.

"I love 'em too! Hey, there's a new Star Wars movie playing at the cinema in a few days! You wanna go see it?"

"I'd love to!"

"Awesome! Well, we better back to class. C'mon, let's go!"

And with that, they were off to class, each of them gaining a new friend that day.


	5. Watching a Movie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trace and Hammond watch some movies.

"Trace, I absolutely _love_ this movie just as much as you do, but please, can we watch something else tonight?" Hammond asked, clearly lying through his teeth.

He was a terrible liar, but Trace was too flabbergasted by Hammond's blasphemy against the entire sci-fi genre to catch the lie.

"What?! But this is Star Wars: Episode Three- Revenge of the Sith! One of the greatest movies of all time!" Trace responded incredulously, as the TV speaker blared out, "YOU WERE MY BROTHER, ANAKIN! I LOVED YOU!" for the umpteenth time that night.

Hammond sighed, forcing himself to grin as that scene played in the background.

"I know, Trace, but a little variety wouldn't hurt, right?"

 _Especially after already watching the same movie three times in a row_ , Hammond mentally added.

Trace looked defeated for a moment, until he sighed, stood up, walked over to the CD player, and popped out the CD.

"Alright, Hammond, you win. What do you wanna watch?"

Hammond thought for a moment, before he smiled and responded, "How bout that one movie we watched a few days after we met?"

* * *

  
"That was awesome!" Hammond exclaimed, the thirteen year-old's heart pumping with excitement as the credits rolled and he and Trace got up from their seat.

"It sure was!" Trace agreed, his mouth half-full of caramel popcorn. "And damn, what a plot twist that was!"

"I seriously didn't see that coming!" Hammond rambled, as he and Trace stepped out of the movie theatre, the red carpets under them being switched out with the grey sidewalk. "All of them are in trouble and are all like 'oh no all hope is lost' and then Luke swoops in all like 'release them, fiend!' and- and-"

Hammond had to stop and take a breath, before he laughed heartily, genuinely enjoying himself for the first time in a while.

"Trace?" Hammond said, looking to Trace and smiling as they both sat down on the side of the curb. "Thank you. For-for taking me to watch this movie."

"Hey, it's no problem, Hammond! Want some popcorn?"

"Uh, no, thanks."

"Fair enough," Trace responded, shrugging his shoulders as he asked, his voice muffled by popcorn, "So, when did your mom say she was going to pick us up?"

"At eight, so... in a couple minutes."

They both sat in silence for a while, until Trace piped up, his mouth empty of any popcorn, "This... This is nice."

"Heh, it really is. Soooo... We're friends now?"

"Sure seems that way," Trace said, playfully nudging Hammond's shoulder.

They sat and told each other their favorite parts of the movie for the next few minutes until Hammond's mother arrived to pick them up.

* * *

  
Trace tiredly yawned as the credits rolled.

It was still great, even after over a decade, but nothing in the world could beat Revenge of the Sith.

"* _yawn_ * Well, Hammond... We saw the movie. Now wha-"

Trace was interrupted by a loud snore.

Turning to his left, he saw Hammond sound asleep and using the couch's armrest as a pillow.

He looked utterly exhausted, which was fair, Trace supposed, since they just had an over-six hour-long movie marathon.

Feeling equally, if not more exhausted, Trace curled up into a ball, laid his head on the other armrest, and closed his eyes before drifting off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't have too much time today, so this is a bit on the short side.  
> I hope you enjoyed reading it!


	6. Karaoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alcohol and karaoke.  
> What could possibly go wrong?

One of the main differences between Hammond and Trace was each of their bodies' reactions to alcohol.

With Trace, the combination of his body and alcohol led to him being the most exhausted person in the world, with him often falling asleep after his third glass.

If he didn't fall asleep, he'd sluggishly wander around, his voice slurred as he answered people asking if he was okay.

If you took a look at sober Trace and drunk Trace separately, you'd assume that drunk Trace was just regular Trace, except a lot more tired.

Hammond, on the other hand, was an entirely different story.

Sober Hammond was a private person, quiet, not usually much of a talker, and rarely went out of his way to interact with new people.

Compare that to drunk Hammond, who was currently hammered while belting out the lyrics of the song  _Sweet Home Alabama_ at the top of his lungs while surrounded by a crowd of less-hammered onlookers, with a few completely-sober people also watching.

One of those sober people happened to be Trace, who sat at the bar sipping a cola as he tried to make sure that Hammond didn't make eye-contact with him.

Any time Trace and Hammond went to a bar together, it was more like one of them taking the other out to a bar and looking after him while he got drunk, mainly since one of them had to stay sober enough to drive them both home.

The last time they had been to a bar, Trace had downed a few drinks, so this time, it was Hammond's turn to unwind a bit.

Trace would've begged for another turn if he knew it was karaoke night.

It wasn't that Hammond had a bad singing voice.

He had a lovely one, actually! (Once you got past the drunken slurring and the belches mid-song.)

_It was just that..._

The song faded out as people clapped. Trace got up from his seat, careful not to make it creak and draw attention to himself.

_.... Hammond was a fan of..._

"*belch* Alrighty, everyone! *hic* Time for the next sho-shong!" Hammond slurred, looking around until he laid eyes on Trace, who was ever-so-slowly trying to walk away and hide.

"Hey, Trashe!" Hammond belched out, barely able to stand up straight as he walked over to Trace, grabbed him by the shoulder, and shoved the microphone in Trace's face. "Sing thish one, Trace!"

_... audience participation._

Trace gently pushed the microphone away, cringing at the feedback this action caused the microphone to emit.

"Uh, no, thanks, Hammond. I think I'm go-"

Hammond shoved the microphone in Trace's face once more before Trace could properly react.

"Hey, everyone! *belch* Trace ish gonna shing!"

"What?! Hammond, no! I'm not going to-"

"Sing it, Trace! Shing it, sing it, sing it-"

"Stop that! I said-"

"C'mon, everyone!" Hammond yelled. "Sing it, sing it, sing it!"

In literally no time, the entire bar was chanting in a sing-song voice at Trace, "SING IT, SING IT, SING IT!"

Trace snatched the microphone from Hammond, just to stop the ear-splitting chanting, which was replaced by whoops and cheers.

"That's the shpirit, Trashe! Maybe we can shing it together!" Hammond hiccuped, slapping him on the back with a wide grin plastered on his red face.

Hammond pulled Trace by the arm to where he was previously singing, and the cheers increased in volume.

Gulping, Trace raised the microphone to his mouth and took a deep breath.

Maybe this won't be so bad, he thought. Maybe it'll just be some cheesy romance song, or-

The instrumental of the next song began to play, and before it was even time for the vocals, Hammond yelled, "YO, I'LL TELL YOU WHAT I WANT, WHAT I REALLY, REALLY WANT! SO TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT, WHAT YOU REALLY, REALLY WANT!"

It was _Wannabe_ by the _Spice Girls._

Great.

"IF YOU WANNA BE MY LOVER, YOU GOTTA GET WITH MY FRIENDS!" Hammond belted out, much too early as he jabbed Trace in the shoulder, signalling Trace to pick up from that lyric.

If took every ounce of willpower for Trace to force himself to sing, much more calmly than Hammond, "Make it last forever, friendship never ends!"

"-IF YOU WANNA BE MY LOVER, YOU HAVE GOT TO GIVE!"

Another jab at Trace's shoulder.

Trace could literally feel his soul leave his body as he continued to sing, "Taking is too easy, but that's the way it is!"

* * *

  
"Can *hic* we shing another shong?" Hammond slurred, holding onto Trace's shoulder for support as he closed his eyes and drunkenly giggled.

Trace was red in the face despite not having a drop of alcohol that night, and tried to ignore the crowd who had listened to him and Hammond sing.

"Nope, we're leaving!" Trace announced, much to Hammond (and the drunken members of the crowd who wanted an encore)'s disappointment.

"Aww..." Hammond mumbled, hiccuping as he muttered the lyrics of the song under his breath.

Trace managed to leave the bar with Hammond in tow, and they both entered the car.

Sighing as he finally escaped karaoke night and started the car, Trace looked at Hammond, who was still mumbling the song lyrics under his breath.

* * *

  
The first thing Hammond did when they got home was flop onto his bed and sleep, snoring loudly as Trace closed the door and left to go to his own room.

Pulling up the covers as put a hand under his pillow and prepared to sleep, he realized something that would give him a hard time sleeping.

_Tell me what you want, what you really, really want-_

That song was stuck in his head.


	7. Hurt/Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trace gets blacklisted.

"What did I do to deserve this?"

That was the only question in Trace's mind as Hammond wheeled him out of the meeting room.

Behind them, their ex-employers slammed the doors shut, effectively turning their backs on someone they used to consider one of their own, and getting their point across that he was no longer welcome.

That he was a fraud.

That he had no voice, and deserved to have none.

The harsh words that were screeched in his ear still echoed in his mind.

"You're way in over your head if you seriously think that this outlandish theory has even a shred of credibility!"

"You're a disgrace!"

"You don't even deserve the honor being called a physicist!"

"It was such a waste to give such a title to someone like you, which is why we'll be taking it back from you!"

They took it from him.

They took away his title as a physicist, with no intention of ever giving it back.

Trace Eschenbrenner was a man who had already lost so much.

He nearly lost his life, but instead, he survived, with his miraculous survival being rewarded with the permanent loss of his sight and ability to walk.

But even with the loss of one of his senses and a crucial part of his mobility, he still had one thing.

His passion, physics.

He was still able to study how the world worked; what made it click.

Trace's lack of sight and ability to walk actually led to the creation of something he once considered his greatest achievement in life.

The Axiom.

A new theory of everything that dared to completely rewrite the established rules of reality.

A theory that was the bright light in the dark world his lack of sight forced him to see.

It was ambitious, but it was revolutionary.

To make up for robbing him of two senses he took for granted, life had given him interviews, magazine articles, and even a consideration for a nomination for a Nobel Prize.

It had given him a voice to be heard!

All of it, because of his unrivalled passion and hard work.

For the first time in months after being rendered blind and crippled by the lab accident, Trace Eschenbrenner was happy.

And just like that, life decided he didn't deserve it, and stripped those gifts away from him as quickly as it had given them to him.

At first, it was just a question asked during an interview. It wasn't a question implying that the interviewer doubted the theory, but rather, they were simply asking if they could prove the theory.

Trace had politely answered that while the theory had some basis in the already-established rules of reality, he couldn't quite prove it. Right then and there, at least.

The interviewer nodded, and that was that.

Of course, Trace's fellow physicists had caught wind of the theory, and before Trace knew it, they were already disproving it, talking over him as he tried to explain.

Just as quickly as he was being hailed as a genius, Trace became a laughingstock.

His nomination for the Nobel Prize was completely disregarded, and every magazine that had his face on the cover next to words of praise now had insults instead.

He tried to ignore it. He _tried_.

He did his best to try and ignore the murmurs of people near him as he and Hammond went to the store. He tried to pretend that the reason that Hammond wheeled him out of the store wasn't to try and escape a man yelling out insults at Trace and receiving support from other shoppers because of those insults.

Every day, it got harder and harder to pretend that everything was okay, and that nothing was wrong.

Trace's shoulders were always noticeably tense, and he always struggled to swallow the lump that rose in his throat every time he heard words like "fringe" or "fraud" or "mad scientist."

The worst part of it came when Trace and Hammond were called in for a meeting with their employers.

The second Trace and Hammond entered the meeting room, their employers wasted no time in proceeding to call Trace every remark under the sun, belittling him, insulting him, talking over him and demanding he shut up and listen while they spoke to him. And at the end of it all, they took away one of the few things he had left.

They blacklisted him.

As the doors slammed shut behind Trace and Hammond, Trace could feel every bottled up emotion in his body screaming for release.

This... This wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair- It wasn't fair- It wasn't fair It wasn't fair It wasn't fair

"It- It's not fa-fair," Trace choked out, failing to hold back a sob as his throat tightened and he tightly gripped the armrests of his wheelchair.

He gritted his teeth, trying to hold back tears that had been pent up for months, ever since the day he had woken up in the hospital after the lab explosion.

Hammond slowly placed a hand on Trace's shoulder, causing his shoulders to tense up.

"It-it's not f-fair, H-Hammond," Trace repeated, his body shuddering as he took in quick, shallow breaths.

_Hold it in, hold it in, hold it-_

"Trace," Hammond said, moving over to the front of Trace, before wrapping his arms around him tightly. "It's okay."

- _in_.

Trace's body continued to shudder.

Slowly, he hugged Hammond back, and sobbed, letting out all his pent-up sadness and frustration, still somewhat trying to hold it back, but failing.

Hammond hugged him tighter, rubbing his back in a slow circle as he continued to coo, "It's okay, Trace. It's okay. Let it all out."

Trace continued to sob, letting his tears flow freely this time as Hammond continued to try to comfort him.

After he had started to sob considerably less, but still held onto Hammond, Hammond gently let go, kneeled down a bit to Trace's eye level, and said, "Trace, listen. I know this hurts. A lot. You don't have to hide it, okay?"

"O-okay," Trace hiccuped, wiping his nose with a sleeve. "I- I'm s-sorry-"

"Don't be," Hammond interrupted. "Trace, I'm gonna be straight with you. I... I honestly don't know what might happen after this. But, whether or not things turn out alright or not, I'm gonna be here for you. And you don't have to keep anything pent up, alright?"

"...A-Alright, Hammond. Tha-Thank you.."

"No problem. C'mon, let's go home."

"S-Sounds good."


	8. Pillow Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Alternate title: One-sided Pillow Fight)
> 
> After Trace pulls one too many all-nighters, Hammond has enough of his crap.

_Tap- tap- tap._

Hammond tossed and turned in his bed, struggling to stay asleep because of that incessant tapping.

Opening his eyes, he was greeted by a dull blue light enveloping the dorm room, and he sat up in bed, cursing under his breath as he hit his head hardon the ceiling. (He _really_ had to switch bunks with Trace at some point.)

"Ow, damnit!" Hammond cussed, rubbing his sore head as he looked to his left, and saw the source of that tapping.

It was Trace, whose back was to Hammond and hunched over in front of the desktop computer, surrounded by open textbooks and with a bowl of Cheetos at his side.

Rubbing his eyes in slight annoyance, Hammond looked at the clock on the wall, which proudly displayed that it was two in the morning.

Hammond glared at Trace, deducing that he was pulling an all-nighter.

 _Again_.

For the _third_ week in a row.

"Trace."

No response, which made sense, since Trace had a large pair of headphones on, probably for sound isolation.

Sighing in annoyance, Hammond climbed down the bunk bed's ladder, muttering how Trace would die of sleep-deprivation one of these days if he kept pulling all-nighters.

Yanking a pillow off of Trace's bunk, he walked up to his friend and tapped him on the shoulder.

Again, Trace didn't respond, since he was too absorbed in his work.

Yawning and grumbling about how they still had a month to finish up their thesis project, Hammond gripped the Trace's pillow in one hand and grabbed Trace's shoulder in the other.

" _Trace_."

Feeling Hammond's hand on his shoulder, Trace turned around in surprise.

"GO. TO SLEEP!" Hammond yelled, whacking Trace in the face with the pillow, and causing him (and some of the pillow's feathers) to fall to the floor, with Trace still having his headphones on.

Finally taking note of the fact that Hammond was towering over him while brandishing a pillow and having a very annoyed expression on his face, Trace pulled off his headphones and asked, "Is it morning already?"

"Yes, Trace, it's morning. Specifically, it's two in the morning. The hell are you doing up this late?!"

"Just working on our thesis proj-"

"It's not even due until a month from now! Trace! Go! To! BED!" Hammond yelled, punctuating each word with another whack of the pillow.

"H-Hey, stop!" Trace protested, getting up and grabbing the other pillow off his bed and using it to shield himself from the onslaught of hits in the face from Hammond. "Can't you just sleep and ignore me?! I just need to finish-"

"That computer's screen's too bright to let me sleep! And we! Have! A MONTH! I NEED SLEEP AS WELL!" Hammond continued to yell, not wanting himself or Trace to get called out for falling asleep in the lecture hall again.

Trace started to hit Hammond back with the pillow in his hands, well-aware of how annoyed Hammond was.

"Okay-okay, Hammond! Just calm down, and-"

"NO! YOU GO TO BED FIRST!" Hammond interrupted, hitting Trace hard enough to shove him onto Trace's bunk. "I NEED SLEEP, DAMNIT!  _YOU_ NEED SLEEP, DAMNIT!"

"Okay, okay, Hammond!" Trace said, throwing away his pillow and raising his hands up in surrender. "I'll sleep, I'll sleep! Just put down the deadly weapon- I mean, pillow- and I'll go to sleep, I promise!"

"No more all-nighters!" Hammond demanded, holding up the semi-empty pillow threateningly.

"Alright, alright!"

"Did you save what work you got done on that computer?!"

"Of course! I- what are you doing?"

Hammond pulled out the computer's plug, enveloping the room in complete darkness.

"GOOD! NIGHT!" Hammond screamed, wordlessly commanding Trace to pay a visit to dreamland immediately.

"Jeez, okay! Good night, Hammond," Trace responded, pulling up his covers and closing his eyes.

"Thank God..." Hammond muttered, hugging what little was left of the pillow as he contemplated just sleeping on the floor, since it would be too dangerous to climb the bunk bed's ladder.

Shrugging as he yawned, he set down the pillow in the middle of the mess of feathers, and lied down on the ground, with one arm under the pillow as he curled into a ball.

The top bunk's mattress was too lumpy, anyway.

 

 


	9. Sports

Trace stopped running, huffing and puffing as he bent over, putting his hands on his knees.

"Eschenbrenner! Move!" the coach yelled, running up to Trace as Hammond ran past them, also huffing and puffing.

Trace continued to huff and puff, feeling the sweat drip down his back as the coach stood next to him, his muscular arms folded as he glared at Trace in disapproval.

"Eschenbrenner!" he yelled again. Trace yelped and jolted up straight as the coach lightly slapped his exposed belly. "You're not gonna get rid of that belly fat if you don't move your lazy ass! NOW, RUN!"

The coach slapped Trace's back, causing him to yelp and take off running again, as the couch chastised him for taking strides that were too big.

* * *

  
"LOWER!" the coach practically screamed in Hammond's ear as the man tried to do a push-up.

"I'm going as low as I can- Ow! Stop that!" Hammond yelled in pain, as the coach pushed Hammond's back down.

"It ain't enough, man! Lower!"

Hammond gritted his teeth, wincing in pain as he was pushed closer to the ground.

* * *

  
Trace laid down on the grass, feeling it poking his legs, with Hammond next to him, and the coach above them both, not even a drop of sweat on his face.

Trace and Hammond, on the other hand, could each feel the sweat in their hair, the sweat making their faces shine under the hot sun, and the sweat sticking their shirts to their backs.

"You two disappoint me," the coach admitted, shaking his head as he walked away, ready to drop out of coaching Trace and Hammond.

* * *

  
Hammond sat back on the couch, one leg over the other and one hand behind his head as he flipped through channels on the TV.

"Yo, scoot over a bit."

Hammond looked up to see Trace, wearing nothing but an undershirt and a pair of boxers. In his hands, he held two unwrapped burritos, one for him, and one for Hammond.

Hammond scooched a bit to the left, giving Trace enough space to sit down next to him.

"So," Trace began, handing a burrito to Hammond. "Anything good on TV tonight?"

"You in the mood for _Mr. Bean_? It's on in, like, five minutes."

"Ehh, don't see why not."

They both sat in silence for a minute before Trace asked, taking a bite out of his burrito, "So, what have we learned today?"

"That hiring a coach for a day so that we can get fitter doesn't automatically work."

Trace poked at his stomach, somewhat annoyed. There wasn't _that_ much belly fat on it.

"And?" Trace asked.

"Me and you are absolute garbage at sports."

"Exactly," Trace agreed, as the _Mr. Bean_ theme song started to play on TV.


	10. Caught in the Rain

"Taxi! Hey, taxi!" Trace yelled, trying to flag down a taxi.

The familiar-looking yellow car approached, seemingly getting ready to stop next to Trace, who was standing next to the road with his thumb out like a hitchhiker.

Instead, it sped right past him, driving straight through through a muddy puddle and drenching Trace from head to toe in muck, adding to the rain that had already soaked him.

"HEY!" Trace yelled, cursing in German as the taxi drove away.

"Yeah... a lot of the taxi drivers here don't really give a damn," Hammond piped up, holding a newspaper over his head to shield himself from the pouring rain.

"Isn't that just dandy..." Trace muttered, hugging himself as his teeth chattered.

 _Hoo boy, it's cold,_ Trace thought, rubbing his exposed arms in an attempt to keep them warm, though not succeeding in doing so.

"You wanna borrow my raincoat, Trace?" Hammond asked, ready to take off his raincoat and give it to Trace.

"N-nah, Hammond, I'm fi- fi- fiATCHOO!" Trace sneezed, shivering and sniffling.

"Aaand you're sick now," Hammond sighed. "I told you that you should've gotten a raincoat."

"I'm n-not s-sick, and H-how sh-should I have kn-known th-that it would rai- ATCHOO!"

"By checking the weather report," Hammond said, shaking his head. He passed the newspaper to Trace as he spied a taxi approaching them.

 _Maybe that one will stop this time,_ Hammond thought as he flagged it down, while Trace continued to deny that he was sick.


	11. Road Trip

"Trace, c'mon!" Hammond yelled, literally pulling Trace by the back of his shirt, as the man grabbed the nearest object to anchor himself and stop Hammond from dragging out the door and into the car.

What Trace grabbed happened to be a chair, which scraped the floor tiles as Hammond dragged it and Trace through the living room.

"Hammond, no! I am not going!" Trace protested, still clinging onto the chair by hugging the back of it with both his arms and legs.

"Yes, you are! We already booked the hotel, and I'm not going to ask for a refund! Now let go of that chair before I drag it out with you!"

Trace still held onto the chair, refusing to let go as he continued to protest, "But I can't go! I've got work to do!"

"No! You! Don't!" Hammond countered, punctuating each word with a yank of Trace's shirt in an attempt to separate him and the chair, and successfully freeing the chair from Trace's grasp, causing Trace to fall on the carpeted floor before Hammond continued to drag him outside the door.

Their luggage was already in the trunk of the car, so Trace had no excuse if he said he needed to grab something.

"But Hammond! If we go on this trip, we'll be a week behind work!" Trace tried to reason, attempting to run away but failing.

"No, we're already a month ahead because of how much you work overtime! A week in Arizona won't hurt!"

Finding no way to convince Hammond to let go of him, Trace suddenly had the idea to yell, "HELP! I'm being kidnapped! I'm being taken to a secondary location against my will!"

A neighbor peeked over their fence to investigate the source of all the yelling, and upon seeing that it was only their neighbor and his workaholic friend, they shrugged and continued on gardening, much to Trace's dismay as Hammond opened the passenger seat door of the car and shoved Trace in.

"Hey! Is no one concerned about a possible abduction?!" Trace questioned anyone who could hear him.

Hammond got into the driver's seat, and batted away Trace's hand before he could snatch the car keys out of the ignition.

"Hammond, seriously! Let me out of this car now!"

"Yeah, no," Hammond flatly answered, before sighing.

"Trace, look. A week off of work is gonna do you some good. Even our boss noticed how exhausted you looked when he came by last week," Hammond said, pointing at the dark bags under Trace's eyes. "And it's a week, not a year. Besides, you've never even been to Arizona! Who knows, you might actually have some fun there!"

Trace was silent for a moment, poking at the aforementioned eye bags before he eventually admitted defeat, with very visible hesitation.

"F-fine, let's get this show on the road."

"That's the spirit, Trace," Hammond said, patting Trace on the back as he started the car.

Trace turned and leaned back against the passenger seat, mentally preparing himself for the six hours it would take to drive all the way to Arizona.

 


	12. Sharing Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hammond's got a secret to tell Trace.

Trace patted the snoozing Hammond on the back as the very-inebriated man snored, drooling a bit on the bar as his head laid on it.

Sighing as he passed Hammond's half-empty whisky glass back to the bartender and gave him a few dollars, Trace mentally recounted the list of reasons they didn't go out to bars too often.

1\. It could be karaoke night.

2\. Hammond had a very low alcohol tolerance.

3\. Hammond tended to ramble.... a lot, in fact, when he got a tad bit too tipsy.

Hammond stirred a bit in his drunken sleep, snapping Trace out of his thoughts.

Trace got up, thankful that the car wasn't parked too far away from the bar, and gently picked up Hammond, holding onto his shoulder to prevent him from falling as they exited the bar.

Trace would ask Hammond about what he said later.

 _After_ the hangover.

* * *

"You need anything in there?" Trace asked, the response he got being the sound of someone throwing up.

"Ughhh..." Hammond groaned from behind the bathroom door, "Trace? Can... Can you get me some water...? Please...?"

"Yeah, sure. Just gimme a minute," Trace responded, cringing as Hammond threw up once more.

Normally, he'd just wait until Hammond felt comfortable talking about anything that bothered him, but the thing he was talking about at the bar was one of the few things Trace wouldn't wait for Hammond to talk about.

He'd ask Hammond about it, but indirectly, Trace decided, pouring Hammond a glass of water.

* * *

 "Hey, Hammond?"

"Mm?" Hammond responded, his mouth full of cereal a few days later.

"Out of curiosity," Trace said, poking at his half-eaten omelette, "are you... afraid? Of anything?"

Hammond raised an eyebrow as he swallowed the mouthful of cereal.

"Uh, yeah, of course."

Trace leaned back in his seat as he continued, "What are you afraid of the most?"

Hammond visibly flinched for a moment, but gave the question some thought before he answered, "I don't know. Snakes, I guess?"

Trace shook his head as he asked, "Are you... afraid of anything else that's a bit more serious?"

Again, Hammond flinched.

"N-no, Trace- Wh-why?"

Ah, the stutter.

The stutter that meant he was lying.

Trace shrugged.

"Everyone's afraid of something major. Heck, I'm afraid of dying," Trace admitted, before continuing, "And besides, you were kind of rambling a lot when you got drunk at the bar a few days ago."

Hammond froze.

"Wh-what- what did I say?"

"You write rambling incoherently about... being afraid of something along the lines of... loneliness?"

That was when Hammond headdesked the table in frustration.

"Uh... Hammond?"

"DAMMNIT! Why is drunk me so stupid?!"

"What...?"

"Trace, I... I..." Hammond trailed off, and got up. "I- I gotta go-"

Before he could go, Hammond felt a tug on his sleeve, stopping him from leaving.

"Wait."

Trace had leaned over the table and grabbed Hammond's sleeve.

"You can talk to me," he reassured, slowly retracting his hand.

"Oh, uh.. Okay," Hammond said, "I... I've always been... afraid that one day... I'll- I'll be alone..."

He looked up at Trace, who nodded, urging him to continue.

"I'm afraid that- that one day I'll... be alone because... because you'll think I'm too much of a loser to be friends with."

Oh.

OH.

OH DAMN.

"WHAT?!" Trace asked, completely incredulous.

"I'm sorry!" Hammond apologised. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

"I could _never_ think such a thing!"

"Re-really?"

"Of course not! You're my best friend!"

"Bu-but I'm also afraid... that... that you're just... friends with me out of pity, and-and you don't really consider yourself as my friend..."

Hammond grew silent, starting to regret even saying anything, but he then felt Trace's hand on his shoulder.

"Hey... That's not true at all... and if it were, do you think I would've put up with you for over a decade?"

"Really?"

"Of course! C'mon, Hammond. You're literally the kindest, nicest person I've ever met, and I could never leave you just like that.... How long have you been feeling this way?"

"About a few... years."

"Yeesh, that's tough! But listen, okay? All that stuff you're afraid of, it's not true at all. I'm still here, and I'll always be your friend."

Trace smiled, reassuring Hammond.

"Oh.... O-okay, thanks, Trace," Hammond responded, smiling back.


	13. Birthday

_Adelanto, California- May 23rd, 1993_

"Happy birthday."

That was what was scrawled on the note that Trace had passed Hammond a few days after they met.

Hammond looked at the scrap of paper, smiling as he scribbled a small "Thank you" on the back and passed it back to Trace, who took it without looking, so that the teacher wouldn't see him distracted.

It was a small acknowledgement, but Hammond appreciated it.

* * *

 

_Adelanto, California- March 31st, 1995_

"Happy birthday!" Hammond exclaimed, hugging the fifteen year-old in from of him as soon as Trace opened the door for him.

Trace laughed, caught by surprise as he hugged Hammond back.

"Thanks, Hammond!" Trace laughed, letting go of the hug. "C'mon! My mom made cake!"

* * *

 

_Adelanto, California- May 23rd, 1998_

"This is so weird," Hammond chuckled, taking a bite of his birthday cake.

"What is?" Trace asked, also happily munching on a slice of caramel birthday cake.

"We're both eighteen now, so aren't we, like, legal adults now?"

Trace shrugged. "I guess so. I mean, we can legally drive and drink now? Obviously, not at the same time, though."

Hammond considered something for a moment, and then asked, "Have you ever tried a beer?"

 

"Cheers," Trace and Hammond said in unison, clinking two newly-opened beer bottles, before downing them both at the same time.

And then hacking out the beer two seconds later.

"Oh my God, this tastes awful!" Trace exclaimed.

Hammond grabbed a bottle of water, downing it all in one go after saying, "How do people even drink this stuff?!"

* * *

 

_Albuquerque, New Mexico- March 31st, 2004_

Trace looked at the small plate on his desk as he reentered his office, preparing to grab a few things to eat during his lunch break.

Approaching the plate, he saw a small slice of cake on it, along with a note from Hammond, which had a simple message written on it.

"Happy birthday! I know that you said that you're too busy for parties or things like that, but surely you're not too busy for a slice of cake, right?"

Trace shrugged as he pocketed the note, and decided that he may as well eat the cake.

Taking a bite of it, he smiled.

It was delicious.

* * *

 

_Sudra, ????_

Hammond hugged his knees as the lights in the prison went out, signaling the end of another day.

The third day, to be exact.

Hammond hugged his knees closer to his chest, trying not to sob.

He was so scared. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be in some prison. He wanted to go home.

He didn't want to die here.

"Hey."

Hammond looked up at the cell across his, where Trace was standing at the bars.

"I... know it's not much, especially now, but... happy birthday, Hammond."

Hammond sniffled, wiping his nose.

"*sniff* Tha- thanks, Trace," he hiccuped, before going back to hugging his knees and suppressing his sobs.


	14. Cuddling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trace and Hammond arrive on Sudra.

"High Priestess."

Eshinimma looked up from her desk, momentarily putting her work on hold as she looked to the door. A guard was standing in the doorway, having dared to arrive unannounced.

"May I-"

"What gives you the gall to enter my quarters unannounced?" Eshinimma snapped, visibly agitated as she pushed herself away from her work desk and stood up, stretching in an attempt to sooth the crick in her back which was caused by her being hunched over her desk for hours.

The guard did not flinch, nor did he recoil at Eshinimma's tone of voice.

He simply held his head low and closed his eyes, signaling to the Priestess that he understood his error.

He stood there, silent for a few moments until Eshinimma eventually gave him permission to enter her quarters.

"You may enter," Eshinimma said, folding her arms.

Whatever you want, you better make it quick, Eshinimma mentally grumbled.

Her desk was covered with shattered clay tablets, all of which were addressed to the same people: The Clergy.

At least one of the smashed tablets was addressed to her, however, and the reason she had smashed it was out of utter frustration with it.

That was when she realized that she might've actually needed to read it more than once, which was why she had been spending the last two hours attempting to piece it back together.

The guard entered, and two feet away from the Priestess, he kneeled, one knee on the ground, his eyes closed, his head facing the ground, and one arm extended to touch the ground.

Eshinimma grimaced at this disrespect.

The position required both arms, not just one.

To extend just one arm on the ground was a mocking gesture, insulting beyond belief.

Just as she was about to chastise the guard for his insolence, that was when she heard it.

A single, muffled cry, followed by another. And then another. And then more until she could make out two voices screaming.

She looked at the guard's shoulder, realizing why the guard only had one arm extended.

He was using his other hand to hold a large burlap sack over his shoulder.

The screaming was coming from inside the sack, and it was very obvious that something was squirming inside, futilely attempting to escape.

"Ah, they have awoken," the guard mused, standing up as he noticed Eshinimma looking at the sack. He tilted his head down in apology, and told her, "Please forgive me, High Priestess, but I believe this matter requires your immediate attention."

The guard held the squirming sack in front of Eshinimma, as though he expected her to do something with it.

"What is in the sack? Some sort of animal?" Eshinimma asks, folding her arms.

"Unfortunately, no," the guard said, motioning for Eshinimma to step back for a bit as he emptied the sack's contents onto the floor.

Eshinimma gasped in shock.

"Foreigners," said the guard, gesturing to the two bound and gagged foreigners who were screaming and squirming on the ground.

* * *

  
Trace and Hammond had never known true fear until the day they arrived on Sudra.

It had started out joyfully, actually, with Trace regaining his ability to see and walk again after not being able to for nearly a year.

Unfortunately, he and Hammond barely had any time to celebrate, because less than a minute after Trace used the strange egg machine, they were ambushed by what they assumed were guards.

Trace had a general plan of what to do after he got healed:

1\. Look around.

2\. Possibly stay for a few days and study the place.

3\. Leave, having proven the Axiom to be true.

He was pretty sure that, "get knocked out and wake up bound and gagged in a sack with your best friend" was not part of the plan.

Neither was, "get thrown out of said sack onto the floor without being untied," yet there they were, lying on the floor, unable to speak or get loose as the woman towering above them glared at them in pure disgust.

Even though they couldn't understand a single word she was saying, she made her disdain for them very clear as she spoke to the guard.

"How did these foreign pieces of scum even come here? I rung in the storm specifically so that an event like this couldn't happen!" Eshinimma ranted, stamping her foot.

She glared at the still-screaming foreigners, and stamped her foot again.

"SILENCE!" she practically screamed, scaring them into silence as they looked up at her with wide eyes.

The guard simply shrugged, and picked up his spear from where it was strapped on his back.

"I do not know. However, since they did use one of the forbidden old machines-"

"They did WHAT?!"

"-and the penalty for such a crime is death..."

The guard knelt down and yanked Hammond up to stand by the hair, causing him to let out a quick yelp, before he screamed at the sight of the guard's spear at his neck.

"Would you like me to kill them?"

Trace's eyes widened and he vigorously shook his head, letting out muffled protests at the sight of his best friend about to be killed.

"NO! NO! DON'T HURT HIM!" Trace screamed under the gag, neither him nor the guard understanding each other's words, but understanding each other's intentions due to their body language.

The guard yanked Hammond's head up, and placed the spear closer to his neck as beads of sweat began to trickle down his forehead.

Trace was about to scream in protest again when Eshinimma walked over to the guard.

And slapped him in the face.

"ARE YOU SERIOUS?!"

The force of the slap caused the guard to drop Hammond back onto the ground next to Trace as Eshinimma continued to screech at the guard.

"IN MY QUARTERS?! DO YOU REALIZE HOW LONG IT WOULD TAKE TO CLEAN THAT MESS UP?!"

The guard rubbed his cheek tentatively as he apologized, "My apologies, High Priestess, but-"

"BUT NOTHING! DO YOU NOT SEE HOW BUSY I ALREADY AM?! I ALREADY HAVE MY HANDS FULL WITH THE KULILTU!"

"But-"

"JUST THROW THEM IN A CELL DOWN IN ABSU! I WILL DEAL WITH THEM LATER!"

"Y-yes, High Pri-"

"GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!"

The guard nodded, and hastily grabbed the foreigners, ignoring their squirming as he shoved them back into the sack.

* * *

  
"We are here," the guard said, as he stood in front of a vacant cell in Absu.

The foreigners in the sack he was holding over his shoulder did not respond.

After unlocking the cell door, the guard entered the cell, then emptied the sack onto the floor before locking the door and leaving.

* * *

  
Trace and Hammond hit the floor with a hard thud, each of them letting out a grunt as they did so.

Trace shook his head side-to-side, and successfully managed to loosen the gag enough to be able to speak.

"Hammond! Are you okay?!"

Hammond looked at Trace, shaking his head, clearly terrified as he continued to struggle against his bonds.

"Hammond, listen!" Trace said, adjusting himself to sit up. "I need you to be back-to-back with me, and untie my wrists. Then, I'll untie you, okay?"

Shakily, Hammond followed Trace's instructions, and Trace's wrists were soon freed.

As soon as Trace untied Hammond, Hammond nearly tackled him backwards as he wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug. 

"T-Trace," he stuttered, "I'm sc-scared."

Hammond buried his face into Trace's shoulder, wetting it with tears as he cried fearfully.

"I... Me too, buddy. Me too," Trace cooed, hugging him back. 

Hammond continued to shake, and Trace didn't dare let go for a long time.


	15. Board Games

Hammond glared at Trace.

"C'mon, man! I know you're cheating! There's no way you're this good at this game by playing normally!" Hammond yelled, wringing his hands in frustration and suppressing the urge to just flip the _Monopoly_ board over.

Trace just laughed, leaning back as he casually took another few hundred-dollar bills out of the Monopoly box.

"Sorry, Hammond," Johansen, Trace's older brother said, as he rolled the dice. "When playing _Monopoly_ with Trace, you have to always be prepared for losing."

Johansen grimaced as the dice landed on a double. His third double, to be exact.

Which meant he had to move his piece to the jail square, just when he was one square away from passing "Go."

Trace meanwhile, had passed "Go" for the fifth time in a row. The only reason Hammond and Johansen were still playing was because Trace had felt pity and given them extra cash.

Delilah, Hammond's younger sister, had already accepted inevitable defeat, and was sitting with her legs crossed, watching as she wondered if her brother and his friends would be up for a different game after Trace had conquered Johansen and Hammond.

Trace took the dice from Johansen and rolled them, landing on a "Community Chest" square. Picking up the card, he read it, and smirked triumphantly as he held out his hand.

"Ten dollars, please."

* * *

  
"You know, there's no harm in accepting defeat-"

"No! I'm not going to let you win!" Hammond interrupted Trace, snatching the dice away from him.  
  
Johansen was out of the game, having given up when he landed in jail for the seventh time, and was currently watching the game with Delilah, waiting for Trace to eventually win.

There was a new rule: The next person to pass go would win the game, effectively ending a two-hour Monopoly session.

Hammond shook the dice and rolled them.

They landed on a five, which meant Hammond was only six spaces away from winning.

Trace, on the other hand, was four spaces away.

"Ready to lose, Hammond?" Trace teased, taking the dice.

Hammond said nothing. He just watched intently as Trace threw the dice.

They landed on a two, meaning Trace landed on a Chance square.

Hammond held his breath as Trace grinned victoriously, picked up a Chance card, and looked at it in pure despair as he moved his piece to the jail square.

Johansen and Delilah gasped at this new development.

Could it be? Was Trace's title as the King of _Monopoly_ about to be stripped away from him?

His hands shaking, Hammond picked up the dice, shook them, and dropped them onto the board.

He rolled a twelve.

"You won!" Delilah cheered, as Hammond moved his piece past the "Go" square.

"I'VE TOPPLED THE REIGN OF THE _MONOPOLY_ KING!" Hammond yelled, flipping over the board, causing the pieces to fly everywhere.


	16. Truth or Dare

"Trace, are you okay?" Johansen asked, chuckling as Trace stared in utter disbelief at the person who had just stolen his title of the King of _Monopoly_.

"H-how?!" Trace asked, completely incredulous as to how he was defeated.

Hammond just shrugged and folded his arms as he smirked triumphantly.

"Sorry, Trace, but you win some, and you lose some," Hammond gloated, picking up the Chance card that lost Trace his crown and holding it close.

"When Trace is done sulking about losing at Monopoly," Delilah began, catching the boys' attention, "y'all up for a game of Truth or Dare?"

The boys looked at Delilah, seeing her sitting cross-legged on the carpet, with a full plastic water bottle in front of her.

"Alrighty," Johansen said, getting up and walking over to sit next to Delilah, with Trace following after him.

"Uh... Are you guys sure?" Hammond cautioned Trace and Johansen.

"What? It's just a game of Truth or Dare, no?" Trace asked, having gotten over losing.

"Yeah, but you guys? You've never played with my sister before. It, uh, gets pretty intense."

"Pssht, nah! I'm sure it'll be fine!" Johansen said, waving a hand dismissively. "It's just Truth or Dare!"

 _You poor souls_ , Hammond thought, as he joined Trace and Johansen, ready to see them regret their decision.

* * *

  
Delilah spun the bottle, and it pointed at Hammond when it stopped. She spun it again, and it pointed at Johansen.

"Truth or dare?" Hammond asked Johansen.

"Dare," Johansen said, not even trying to play it safe.

"Alright. Uh... I dare you to.... hug Trace because he's still sulking about losing _Monopoly_."

"I am not!" Trace denied, clearly lying about not being somewhat upset that his throne was taken from him.

"Really? Is that the best you can do?" Johansen chuckled, hugging his younger brother.

"Oh, please," Delilah said. "We're just getting started."

She spun the bottle again.

It ended up pointing at her, and when she spun it a second time, it also pointed at her.

"Hey!" she said. "Sweet, a double! By that rule, it means I can ask any two of you guys to ask truth or dare. I'll start with... Trace! Truth or dare?"

"Truth," Trace said, much more cautious than Johansen.

"Okay, so you know that girl May in Johansen's class? Does Johansen have a crush on her?"

Trace was about to answer in the negative, but that was when he saw Johansen blushing like mad.

"Yes," Trace answered, as Johansen shook his head, clearly lying.

"Ooh! Truth or dare, Johansen?" Delilah asked, having gotten the information she needed.

Before Johansen could even finish saying the word "Dare," Delilah pointed at the telephone on the table in the room, and said, "I dare you... to call May... and ask her out on a date."

"What?!" Johansen asked, incredulous.

"You heard me," Delilah smirked. "Call her and ask if she wants to go out! That's the dare!"

Very reluctantly, Johansen got up and walked over to the telephone, before dialing May's number and waiting.

"Please don't pick up, please don't pick up, please don't- Oh, hi, May! It's me, Johansen. Are you free on Saturday?"

* * *

  
A date arrangement and few more Truth or Dare rounds later, it was time for Trace and Johansen to leave.

"Your friends are fun to mess with," Delilah laughed. "You should invite them over more often!"

Hammond just rolled his eyes, chuckling as he remembered Trace and Johansen's faces of embarrassed regret throughout the game.


	17. Water Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continued from "Road Trip!"

~~~~"We're staying at a _what_?"

"A water park hotel," Hammond answered, gesturing to the building outside their car.

"Why?" Trace asked, not too keen on the idea whatsoever.

"Why not? Swimming's pretty fun! And besides, it's good to have somewhere to cool off in a place as hot as Arizona!"

"Yeah, but," Trace said, preparing to exit the car door as Hammond drove up to the hotel's entrance, "I can't take my laptop to the pool. It'll get wet!"

Hammond raised an eyebrow as he stopped the car and stepped out of it.

"Why would you bring your laptop to one of the pools?"

"To get some work done."

"Aww, come on, Trace! Seriously? We're at a water park hotel! There's so much to do other than work!"

Trace shrugged, getting out of the car as well.

"Hammond, you know me! If I ever have a vacation, I like it to be productive!"

"Trace, a productive vacation means a vacation where you have fun! Lots of fun! Not lots of work!"

Trace sighed as he and Hammond walked into the hotel, pulling their bags behind them.

"Fine," Trace said, "but you can't stop me from at least trying to get some work done."

* * *

  
"You were saying?" Hammond asked, smirking triumphantly at the sight of Trace wearing a speedo.

Trace rolled his eyes, not willing to admit defeat as Hammond set down their towels on the chaise longues.

"Hammond, the only reason I'm here is because you wouldn't stop bothering me until I put on some trunks and hauled myself here."

"I still managed to get you to come here, no?" Hammond countered, pulling Trace by the arm towards a water slide. "C'mon!"

* * *

  
"AAAAHHH!" Hammond screamed as he zoomed down the twenty foot-tall water slide, before zipping out and falling into the pool at the bottom of it. "Ha- ha! That was awesome!"

Just as he resurfaced, he heard another scream.

"OH MY GOD LOOK OOOOUUUUTT!"

Before Hammond could move out of the way, Trace was shot out of the slide, limbs flailing as he hit Hammond hard, sending them both into the very deep end of the pool.

Upon realizing they weren't resurfacing, the lifeguard blew his whistle and dove in after them, before grabbing them and dragging them both to safety.

* * *

  
Trace spluttered and coughed out water as the lifeguard draped his shoulders with a warm towel and handed him a cup of hot cocoa.

"You okay, sir?" the lifeguard asked, doing the same for Hammond, who shook like a leaf.

"I think s-so, th-thanks," Trace stuttered, his teeth chattering as he raised the mug to his lips and took a sip of the delicious, warm liquid.

"How about you, sir?" the lifeguard asked, turning his attention to Hammond.

"I- I'm a-alright, I th-think," Hammond answered, before going into a coughing fit and hacking up a mixture of water and phlegm.

The lifeguard spoke into his walked talkie, before turning back to Trace and Hammond, telling them, "A medical team should be arriving in about four minutes."

"Th-thanks, sir," Trace stuttered, holding the towel closer to himself as Hammond continued to hack and splutter.

If he knew that this was going to happen, he would've rather just stayed home and continued working.


	18. Silly Debate

"Trace, you and I both know that there's only one correct answer to this discussion," Hammond said. " _My_ answer."

"In your dreams, Hammond!" Trace countered, pushing his bowl of food towards Hammond. "Here, you can try some, and you'll clearly see that my mom has better cooking skills!"

"Yeah, right! Your mom's spaghetti is one thing, but nothing in the world can compare to my mom's cheesecake!"

Just when Hammond was about to shove his plate of strawberry cheesecake to Trace to show him the superiority of Mrs. Warner's cooking over Mrs. Eschenbrenner's, Mrs. Warner herself stepped in and took away the cheesecake.

"Sorry, Hammond," she said, replacing the cheesecake with a bowl of spaghetti. "But dessert is _after_ dinner, not before."

"And besides," Mrs. Eschenbrenner said, ruffling her teenage son's already-messy mane of hair. "Why don't you two eat dinner, instead of just arguing about who cooks better?"

"Especially when the answer is obvious," Mrs. Warner added.

Trace twirled his fork in the spaghetti, before taking a bite and smearing tomato sauce around his mouth.

"What's the answer?" Trace asked out of curiosity.

" _Me_ ," Mrs. Eschenbrenner confidently stated, chuckling as she received a playful jab in the arm from Mrs. Warner.


	19. Dancing

"What is this thing?" Trace asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked at the arcade machine.

"It's a DDR machine!" Hammond answered, pulling Trace onto the slightly elevated platform of the machine.

On the platform were two sets of four l arrows pointing in every Cardinal direction, and in front of the platform was a monitor, displaying a start screen.

"Huh," Trace acknowledged, looking at the arrows and experimentally setting a foot down on one. "So what do you do to play? Do you just step on these arrows?"

"It's more like stomping actually," Hammond corrected, popping four quarters into the machine, and wondering which song he should select from the song menu.

"Hey, Trace?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

"Wanna start off with an easy song?"

"Sure, I guess."

Choosing a song from the screen, Hammond explained to Trace the basic instructions of the game.

"Right, so basically, every time the arrows on screen gets into their little slots, you gotta stomp on the corresponding arrows on the platform!"

"Huh, seems easy enough," Trace commented, getting ready to play.

"Ready?" Hammond asked as the song started to play. "Aaand... GO!"

Hammond practically bashed the arrow with his foot when he stomped down on it.

* * *

 

"That was awesome!" Trace said, much more enthusiastic about the game than before he and Hammond played it. "Let's go another round!"

"Sorry, Trace," Hammond apologised, huffing and puffing and drenched in sweat, "but maybe ten songs is enough. Besides," Hammond made a face and dramatically waved a hand in front of his nose, "we stink!"

Trace, who was equally, if not more sweaty, sniffed the air and scrunched up his nose.

"Oof!" he exclaimed. "We reek!"

"Maybe another day. Wanna go get pizza?" Hammond chuckled, gesturing to the arcade exit.

"Definitely," Trace answered, smiling.

And with that, they left the arcade.


	20. Video Games

"Go, go, go- no! No! NOOOO!" Hammond cried out in despair as the in-game go-kart he was controlling plummeted off of the track and into the endless abyss below as the game over music began to play, mocking Hammond as he stared at the screen with resentment.

"My turn," Trace chuckled, snatching the controller from a distraught Hammond.

He restarted the game, and played on the same track using the same character as Hammond.

And then proceeded to win within the first five minutes.

"I win," Trace casually stated, adding another tally mark under his name on the paper scoreboard he and Hammond were using.

* * *

 

"I win again!"

"Aww, come on, Trace!" Hammond protested. "You can't win _every single time_!"

Trace just laughed.

"Sorry, Hammond, but life's sad sometimes. Ready to stop playing-"

"No!" Hammond interrupted, not willing to accept defeat. "One more game first!"

Trace sighed, "Alright, but if you lose-"

"I won't," Hammond simply said, popping the game disk into the console.

* * *

 

For the next hour, the sound of controller buttons being mashed filled the room until finally...

Hammond's character swung his sword, desperately evading the final boss' attacks until he only had one drop of health left.

Holding his breath, Hammond's character leapt, swung his sword...

...and hit the boss dead-on, winning the game!

"YES!" Hammond yelled, throwing the controller in success and joy. And then realizing what he just did and yelling, "WAIT NO CRAP CRAP CRAP!"

The controller shattered as it hit the ground, breaking into a million pieces.

Hammond and Trace stared at thing's remains, stunned as they looked in silence until Hammond broke the silence.

"At least I won?"


	21. Shopping

"Trace."

"Yes, Hammond?"

"Why, pray tell, is there not a single shirt in your suitcase? Or any piece of clothing at all, for that matter?"

Hammond gestured to the open suitcase that laid on the floor, the thing overflowing with papers: work documents, unfinished reports, statistics, etc.

"I didn't see the need to pack any of that stuff," Trace admitted, casually shrugging.

"Why?"

"I was planning to get as much work done as I could, so I just filled my entire suitcase with work stuff."

"During a vacation?"

"Yes."

"So... no clothes or toothbrush or anything at all?" Hammond asked.

"Nope."

Hammond grabbed Trace's arm and started to walk to their hotel room's door.

"Where are we going?"

"Shopping for all the things you should've packed."

* * *

 

"What are we doing here again?" Trace asked, a bored tone in his voice as Hammond checked out the price of a winter coat.

"You didn't pack a single thing for our vacation!" Hammond said, adding the coat to the pile of things he was forcing Trace to lug around.

"Correction: I did pack," Trace countered. "I packed everything I needed."

"Work stuff?"

"You've known me for at least a decade. Of course, work stuff."

Hammond just sighed and shook his head, looking around at some more clothes.

"Hey, Hammond?" Trace offhandedly asked, gently placing the pile of clothing on the floor while Hammond's back was turned. "Hypothetically-speaking, how much do you think a good work laptop would cost?"

"I don't know- maybe like seven or eight hundred bucks."

"Huh. Okay, then," Trace said, turning on his heel and booking it to a nearby electronics store.

It took all of six seconds for Hammond to realize why Trace asked that question.

"Hold on a second. TRACE! GET BACK HERE!"

Dropping the shopping bags and clothes he was holding, Hammond dashed to catch Trace.

* * *

 

Hammond unceremoniously dropped the clothes onto the cashier's counter with one hand, not caring how strange he looked while holding Trace by the ear using his other hand.

After paying for the clothes (and getting some stares from other shoppers), Hammond exited the store, holding the shopping bags, and dragging Trace to the taxi by the ear.

* * *

 

"Was that really necessary?" Trace asked, rubbing his sore tomato-colored ear.

"Yes," Hammond bluntly answered, cutting off the price tags of some clothes.

"Why?"

"So that you wouldn't spend eight hundred dollars on something you don't need."

It was then that Hammond remembered that he'd forgotten to unpack his suitcase.

Trace froze when Hammond pulled the zipper.

"Hammond, wait! Don't-"

But it was too late. As soon as Hammond unzipped his suitcase, hundreds of work documents burst out of it onto the floor.

Hammond stared at the clothing-less suitcase.

"Trace. I'm not mad. Just very, very disappointed."

 


	22. Ice Skating

"No."

"Aw, c'mon, Trace! It'll be fun!" Hammond said, dangling a pair of ice skates precariously close to Trace's face.

"First of all, I said no. And second, be careful with those things," Trace said, gently pushing the skates away. "They have blades on the bottom."

Hammond pulled the skates away, and countered, "Trace, it's not like we can head to work in this weather. It isn't safe, and our bosses won't even let us go to the lab, whether we like it or not."

"And so you wanna take this opportunity to go ice skating, is that it?" Trace asked, leaning back in his chair and sipping some warm coffee as he looked longingly to the laptop on the desk to his left.

Hammond nodded, stopping Trace from being able to turn his swivel chair to the computer by pulling it.

"Hammond. Let go," Trace said, anchoring the chair by planting his feet on the ground.

"Nope! C'mon, Trace! There's a frozen lake nearby! It'll be great!"

"And if I say no, again?"

"Then I'll keep bothering you until you say yes."

"..."

Trace got up from his swivel chair and took a big swig from his mug, downing every last drop of coffee in it, and ignoring the heartburn he got because of how burning-hot the coffee was.

Once he wiped his mouth and with his sleeve and set the mug back down, he tapped a few keys on his keyboard, and shut down the laptop.

"Fine," he said. "But-" Trace raised a finger in the air before Hammond could interrupt. "Just two hours, and then we- or just me, at least- come back here, okay?"

Hammond thought about it for a moment, before he responded, "Okay! Two hours is better than no time at all. Let's go!"

"Hammond, wait."

"What?"

"I didn't even put on my coat yet. Gimme a minute."

* * *

  
"Nope."

"What?! But Trace, you said-"

"I know what I said, but I said that _before_ I actually saw the lake."

In front of Hammond and Trace was a lake that had been completely frozen.

It looked perfectly normal, except for one thing.

"How thick is that ice?" Trace asked, mildly concerned as he tried to stay standing despite the ice skates on his feet.

"Pretty thick, I think. Let's go!" Hammond answered, sliding into the ice.

"Hammond, wait! It could be dangerous!" Trace cried, reaching out with a hand, but not daring to go on the ice.

"Trace, it's perfectly safe! Just loo- oof!"

CRACK.

Trace and Hammond paled.

Hammond had tried to balance himself, but failed and fallen onto the ice, cracking it under him, but not breaking it just yet.

"Hammond," Trace said, inching closer to the edge of the lake. "Stand up. And walk to me. Very. Slowly."

He held out his hand for Hammond to grab, and held his breath as Hammond shakily tried to get up.

Hammond was about to walk ever-so-slowly to Trace, but that was when he slipped, and the ice cracked even more under him.

CRACK!

"T-Trace! Help!" Hammond called out in terror.

"Hang on!" Trace yelled, stepping back for a moment before running onto the ice and skating towards Hammond.

Just before Hammond could fall into the water below, Trace grabbed Hammond, yanked him to his feet, and skated with him to the opposite end of the lake, just before the ice completely broke into chunks that sank into the water's murky depths.

Falling onto snow, Trace asked Hammond, "Are you okay?"

"I- I think so. Th-thanks, Trace."

Trace and Hammond stared at what could've been the scene of Hammond drowning if not for Trace saving him.

"Y'know," Trace said, "ice rinks are safer."

"Yeah..."

"There's one nearby. You wanna go there?"

"Really?" Hammond asked.

"You seemed pretty excited to ice-skate, and it hasn't even been an hour yet, so... you wanna go to that ice rink?"

Hammond smiled. "Sure thing!"


	23. Camping-Relaxing

"Go camping, you said. It'll be fun, you said. Definitely won't come across any cougars, you said."

"Trace, shh! It might hear us!" Hammond whispered, crouched down next to Trace as they both stared at the cougar just a few feet away from them rummaging through their supplies.

Trace rolled his eyes. To think that the day had started out so well before leading up to this...

* * *

  
"Your shoulders are tense," Hammond said to Trace as they drove to work.

"I'm aware," Trace answered as-a-matter-of-factly as he kept his eyes focused on the road.

"No, I mean, they're, like, really, _really_ tense."

"I know," Trace reaffirmed. "They're always tense."

"You know, Trace, one of the signs of stress is continuously tense shoulders."

"I'm not stressed," Trace denied. "I'm just... thinking about work a lot."

Trace took the next exit, and drove on a trafficless road that led to the lab on the mountain.

As they drove up, the sounds of impatient drivers honking their horns and cursing at each other faded away into nothingness, and Hammond looked out of the window at the surrounding area.

Stretching from one end of the mountain to the other was a pretty large forest.

Hammond had never been in it or walked in it, but he had sat at the edge of it during his lunch break, and it was always so peaceful listening to the sounds of birds singing and smelling the spruce trees while eating.

The forest didn't cover the mountain entirely, though.

Near the top of the mountain, the road widened, until there was eventually no forest left, and instead, just the lone laser lab where Trace and Hammond worked.

Trace gently shook Hammond's shoulder as he pulled the car keys out of the ignition.

"We're here."

As Trace and Hammond exited the car and walked to the entrance of the lab, Hammond suggested, "Hey, Trace? I think you should relax after work today."

"No time. Gotta prepare for tomorrow's work."

"But tomorrow's Saturday."

"I'm planning on working overtime again."

"But-"

"I'm planning to stay at the lab tonight, so that I can get started on work as soon as I wake up."

"Funny, that implies you'll actually sleep instead of pulling another all-nighter."

Trace just rolled his eyes, and pulled out the keys to the lab, when his wrist was suddenly held back.

"Wait," Hammond said. "Trace, listen. As your best friend for over a decade, I have the right to say this: You look like absolute _shit_."

Trace blinked, noticeably taken aback.

"Excuse me?"

"Trace, I think you can afford to take a day off. Look at yourself, you're exhausted! Which is why we're going on a camping trip so that you can relax."

Trace was silent and lazily narrowed his eyes.

"Yeah, no, we got work to do," Trace said, unlocking the lab door.

"Trace, wait," Hammond said, putting a hand on Trace's shoulder and stopping him from entering the lab. He sighed. "I can't stop from working, it seems, so how bout this: Instead of sleeping in the lab, you and me camp out for the night, like that one time when we were kids?"

Trace loosened his grip on the door handle.

"Where can we even camp?"

"In the woods near the lab! We can tie a rope between two trees and use a tarp we have in the lab as a kind of makeshift tent!"

Trace loosened his grip even more.

"And," Hammond continued, "we can get some food from the mini fridge in the lab!"

Trace turned, raising an eyebrow.

"We have a mini fridge in there?"

Hammond nodded. "Yeah. What, have you never seen it?"

"Admittedly, no, I don't recall even buying it, actually."

"That's because I bought it a few weeks months so that you could eat while pulling all-nighters. Wait a second. If you didn't notice the mini fridge... Did you even eat at all when staying here all night?!"

Trace casually shook his head. "Nah, I was too focused on work to feel hungry."

Hammond pinched the bridge of his nose. "Damnit, Trace... Yep, we're definitely going camping. You need to clear your head."

"What about the animals?"

"What animals?"

"The ones in the woods. Specifically, cougars."

"Relax! There aren't any cougars in the woods. Just squirrels, birds, and maybe a couple deers and stuff."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

* * *

  
"You were saying?" Trace asked, reminding Hammond of his certainty about the lack of cougars in the woods.

"Okay, fine!" Hammond whispered. "Maybe I wasn't actually so sure!"

"The hell do we do?" Trace whispered back, peeking at the cougar from the top of the bushes he and Hammond were hiding behind.

The large feline was rummaging through the food, most likely indulging itself in the beef jerkies Hammond had packed.

Unfortunately, it was eating right next to the tent, where Hammond had left the keys to the lab.

"Well?" Trace asked.

"Well what?"

"Which one of us is going to get the keys?"

"..."

"..."

"..."

"*sigh* Fine, I'll do it."

"Please be careful, Trace!"

Trace slowly crept out from behind the bushes, moving on his toes as he quietly approached the cougar, his heart beating the slowest it ever had.

The cougar paid no attention to him, due to being too caught up with enjoying its meal.

Trace held his breath as he tiptoed into the tent and carefully grabbed the keys in such a way that they wouldn't jingle, before stepping out of the tent.

The cougar's tail flicked from side to side as it continued to chow down, utterly oblivious to Trace's presence.

Hammond sighed in relief as Trace motioned for him to slowly follow him back to the lab.

Together, they crept away, but just as they entered the clearing where the lab was-

CRACK.

-Hammond stepped on a stick.

Instantly, the cougar stopped tearing into the jerkies, and turned to face Trace and Hammond, its teeth coated with bits of dried meat.

"Hammond," Trace said, as the cougar snarled and started walking towards them. "RUN!"

  
Trace rammed his body against the door as soon as he and Hammond ran into the lab, feeling the cougar claw and bite at the door.

"Lock the door, lock the door!" he yelled, as Hammond fumbled with the keys for a moment before jamming one of them into the lock and turning it, effectively locking the cougar out.

Trace moved away from the door, thankful that it was made out of metal as the cougar continued to claw at it.

It was persistent, but seemed to be inefficient in its attempts to get to Trace and Hammond.

"So," Trace said, "seems like we're holed up in here for the night."

"At least we won't starve. The fridge still had some stuff in it," Hammond pointed out.

Trace just shrugged, before asking, in the tone of a parent talking to a grounded child. "So... what have we learned?"

"That there are cougars in the woods," Hammond mumbled in response.


	24. Race

"How long until we can go home?" Hammond asked, leaning back in his chair as he tapped his fingers on his desk.

Trace, who was the only other person in the room, looked at his watch.

"About... an hour."

Hammond groaned in frustration. God, he really hated detention.

It wasn't even his own fault that he was in detention!

It was because Aaron, that jerkface, got him in trouble again! The only reason Trace was even there was because he had promised to wait out the detention with him, which Hammond appreciated.

Unfortunately, despite the fact that each of them had his best friend with him, there was on thing that plagued them both.

They were both bored as all hell.

"Trace," Hammond groaned.

"Yeah?"

"I'm bored."

"Me too."

Trace placed his elbow on his desk and held up his head with his hand, looking around the classroom until he spied something.

"Hey, Hammond?" Trace asked, pointing at a glass terrarium on a table at the side of the class. "What's in that terrarium over there?"

"Oh, that? I think this class' class pets. They're... snails, I think."

"Snails, huh?"

Trace pushed his desk forward and got out of seat, then walked to the snails.

"We never had a class pet in my old school," Trace said, as he looked at the snails. They were pretty big, with a few smaller one. "Hey, Hammond. Get over here for a minute."

Hammond shrugged and walked over to Trace. "Yeah?"

"You think there are any garden snails in there?"

"Definitely. Heck, there are two right there," he answered, pointing at two tiny snails on one of the walls, one with a brown shell, and the other with a white shell.

"Huh," Trace commented. "Got any vegetables left in your lunch bag?"

"I think I have some lettuce, maybe?"

"Okay, good. Give me a leaf or two of lettuce."

Hammond shrugged, and turned to get some lettuce. When he turned back to Trace, Trace was lifting the lid off the glass terrarium.

"Uh, Trace? What're you doing?"

"Getting those two garden snails out."

Trace cupped one hand under the snails and inched it closer to them until their natural instinct kicked in, and they curled up into their shells, falling into Trace's hand.

Trace scooped them up and shut the lid, before placing them on the nearest desk. He fished a ruler out of one of the class drawers, and placed the two hiding snails on it after setting it on the desk.

He motioned for Hammond to hand him the lettuce, and he set one leaf down opposite end of the ruler from the snails.

"Trace, what are you doing?"

"Snail racing."

"Come again?"

"Me and my brother used to do it all the time when I was younger. Basically, we used to dig up the snails in our backyard, got some random vegetable to use as incentive, each pick a snail, then watch which one would get to the vegetable first," Trace explained, before turning his attention to the snail race he was preparing. "I'm gonna choose the brown one, and you can have the white one. It'll probably take a few minutes before they get out of their shells."

Hammond looked at the snails with mild amusement.

Snail racing, huh?

They might well mess so around until they could leave.

The snails came out of their shells.

* * *

  
"This was a lot more fun when I was five," Trace admitted, stifling a yawn of boredom.  
  
The snails hadn't even gotten past the first inch of the ruler. One of them had even turned back in the direction that it came from.

"How long until we can leave?" Hammond asked, somewhat dreading the answer.

Trace looked at his watch.

"About... fifty minutes."

Trace and Hammond collectively groaned.


	25. Cooking

Ah, spring break.

The two weeks when Hammond and Trace could take a break from the absolute hell that was high school.

And also the time when Hammond was planning to stay at Trace's house for a few days.

It was essentially like a sleepover, though the main reason Hammond was staying at Trace's house was because his parents were on a business trip, so he and little sister, Delilah, were being looked after by the Eschenbrenners until Mr. and Mrs. Warner could get back.

It was pretty fun to stay at Trace's place!

Hammond and Trace mainly spent their days playing video games and watching sci-fi movies, and just generally having a blast.

Delilah rest of the Eschenbrenners had gone out to eat for dinner one evening, and the only reason Trace and Hammond hadn't gone with them was because he and Trace were too immersed in a video game they were playing, and had repeatedly reassured Mrs. Eschenbrenner that they weren't hungry.

So Trace and Hammond were alone in the house for a couple hours, doing pretty much whatever the heck they felt like doing.

As they waited for a level in a video game to load, Hammond suddenly had an idea.

"Hey, Trace?" he asked, putting down his controller.

"Yeah?"

"You know that ice cream place at the mall- _Cold Stone_ , I think it's called- where you can get your toppings mixed into the ice cream itself instead of the toppings just being on top of the ice cream?"

Trace nodded, rubbing his stomach. He could really go for some ice cream, now that he thought about it.

"Okay, so," Hammond continued. "Hypothetically speaking, if you put ice cream and marshmallows in a blender, could you get the same effect as that ice cream place?"

Trace stroked the stubble beginning to grow on his chin, considering the hypothetical.

"Actually," he said, "I'm not sure."

The level finally loaded, but instead of playing, Trace put down his controller and stood up.

"My parents will be home in about two hours, probably, so we have time."

"Time for what?" Hammond asked, standing up to follow Trace as he began to exit the bedroom.

"Time for a scientific experiment."

* * *

  
"Marshmallows?"

"Check," Hammond answered, pulling a bag of marshmallows out of a cupboard.

"Two tubs of vanilla ice cream?"

"Check," Hammond replied as he got some ice cream out of the freezer.

"One tub of chocolate ice cream?"

"Check."

"Blender?"

Hammond plugged in the blender.

"Check."

"An excuse to give my parents just in case we need to?"

Hammond passed Trace a wrinkled scrap of paper with an excuse scrawled on it.

"Check."

"Alright, seems like we got everything we need," Trace said as he set down his checklist and began scooping some ice cream into the blender.

"Trace," Hammond said, ripping open the bag of marshmallows. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Nope!" Trace bluntly answered as grabbed the bag of marshmallows and dumped half of it in the blender. "That's why we're doing this. It's a scientific experiment!"

Hammond could easily tell that Trace was only doing this for the sake of ice cream with marshmallows mixed in, but he didn't complain.

Next to the blender on the counter was an open notebook in which Trace had scribbled a brief summary of what they were going to do.

** ICE CREAM SCIENCE EXPERIMENT **

Materials:  
\- Chocolate ice cream  
\- Vanilla ice cream  
\- Marshmallows (Heck yeah marshmallows)  
\- Blender  
\- (Extra- An excuse if my parents find out about this or if I accidentally break the blender)

Hypothesis:  
\- Mixing ice cream with marshmallows in a blender will result in homemade _Cold Stone_ ice cream.

Procedure:  
1\. Scoop ice cream into the blender, then add half a bag of marshmallows.  
3\. Turn on blender until marshmallows are mixed into the ice cream.  
4\. Scoop ice cream out of blender and into a bowl.  
5\. Eat ice cream.

Experiment results:  
(Blank until experiment is conducted.)

Extra Notes:  
\- My excuse for doing this if things go wrong is that I was doing it for science. (It's half-true.)

  
"Ready?" Trace asked, placing the lid onto the blender.

Hammond nodded, and Trace turned on the blender.

* * *

  
Mrs. Eschenbrenner unlocked the door to her home as her husband and son, as well as her friend's daughter, stood behind her, waiting until they could enter.

As the key turned in the lock, Hammond and Trace could very clearly be heard saying, "Crap, they're here!" "What should we do?!" "I don't know!"

Curious, Mrs. Eschenbrenner went to the kitchen, and her jaw dropped as she processed the sight in front of her.

The kitchen walls were splattered with ice cream and marshmallows, and in the middle of everything were Trace and Hammond, each with marshmallows and ice cream stuck in their hair, trying to scrape marshmallows out from under the blender's blades after they had gotten stuck.

They both froze upon seeing Mrs. Eschenbrenner's shocked face.

For a full minute, they were all silent, until Trace nervously chuckled, "I did it for science?"


	26. Kitten

Hammond exhaled softly as he exited the grocery store, watching as the cold winter air made his breath visible.

Tightening his grip on his grocery bags, he made his way to the car, shivering slightly as the snow hit his face.

If Trace was there, he would have helped Hammond with the five grocery bags, but unfortunately, Trace was too sick to even go to work, so Hammond had to lug the bags (most of which were filled with cans of chicken noodle soup) all by himself.

When he finally reached the car, he carefully balanced two of the bags on his knee, and used his free hand to fish around in his pocket for the car keys. Finally finding them, he took them out of his pocket, jammed a key into the car door-

"Mew."

-and froze midway through unlocking the door. Nearly dropping the bags off his knee, he looked down, and gasped.

Half-buried in the snow was a small, shivering kitten that looked no older than a few weeks old. The poor thing's eyes were barely open, and it weakly mewed again.

"Mew..."

Immediately, Hammond dropped his bags to the ground, and dug the kitten out of the snow with his gloved hands, before holding it close to himself and hugging it tightly.

"Shh... It's okay, little guy. I got you," Hammond cooed as the kitten shivered uncontrollably.

Hammond took his scarf off his neck with one hand, and tightly wrapped the little black and white kitten in it like a kitten burrito. He then unzipped his jacket a bit under his neck, and tucked in the little burrito, leaving its head exposed as he hastily unlocked the car door and got inside, getting the grocery bags in with him.

Turning on the heater in the car, he blew on his gloved hands to warm them, before gently rubbing the kitten's head in an attempt to stop the little critter from freezing.

It mewed again, nuzzling his hands as they rubbed its head.

Hammond sighed in relief as it continued to mew and nuzzle his hands, and that was when the topic of what to do with the kitten came to mind.

He looked at the little bundle of fluff in contemplation. He couldn't take it to an animal shelter, since the nearest one was two hours away, and he couldn't take it to a vet either, since the veterinary clinic was closed on that day. There was only one place Hammond could take the kitten.

His and Trace's house.

* * *

  
"Trace! I'm home!" Hammond called out as he unlocked the door and entered, only to get snores from the living room couch as a response.

Gently rubbing the kitten (which was still wrapped in his scarf) on the head, he carefully set it down on the table, and fished out a hot water bottle. He filled the kettle with water and turned it on, before turning his attention back to the kitten.

It seems to be shivering a lot less now, thankfully, and was now curiously mewling, though its eyes were still closed.

It must be pretty young, Hammond assumed as he went to pick it up and hold it close to his chest.

He smiled as he walked over to the couch nearest to the thermostat, hearing the kitten purr as he hugged it.

Plopping down on the couch, he said to the kitten, "Don't worry, little buddy. I'm gonna make sure you're a-okay."

Trace, who had been asleep on the other couch up to that point, groggily woke up.

"Mm...? *cough* Hammond, *sniff* who are you- Is that a kitten?"

Hammond nodded and the kitten purred more, as though answering Trace's question.

"Yep," answered Hammond. "Found the little guy half-buried in snow. Nearly froze, the poor little thing."

Trace sat up, coughing and sniffling as he did so.

"*sniff* What, you wanna keep it?"

Hammond thought for a moment, before shrugging.

"Yeah, I guess so. Besides, it doesn't have a collar, so it's probably a stray."

Trace sniffled again. "*cough* What are you gonna name it?"

Hammond racked his brain for a moment. "How bout... Wilson?"

"Why Wilson?"

"I don't know. It just seems like a good name."

The kitten purred more.

"Aww, you like that, don't you?" Hammond chuckled, lightly tickling its head.

Hammond raised up Wilson slightly, and smiled, "You hear that? You're my little Wilson now."

The kettle whistled, and Hammond held Wilson in one arm as he went to prepare the hot water bottle.

"My little Wilson," he thought again, smiling wider at the name.


	27. Babysitting

Hammond looked at the child playing on a gameboy, then to the kid's father, then back to the kid again.

"With all due respect, sir," Hammond said to the man, "we're physicists, not babysitters."

The man huffed, and placed a hand on his son's shoulder, though the kid was too enthralled in a game of _Pokemon Red_ to notice.

Trace and Hammond's boss was a generally nice man who did things such as give Trace and Hammond a break when they were visibly stressed out. He didn't mind them taking a few days off any time they asked (as long as they didn't abuse that luxury), and was genuinely concerned whenever they showed up to work while ill.

To put it simply, their boss, Mr. F, was a lovely man.

His son, Michael, on the other hand, was an arrogant, self-entitled piece of crap.

"Might I remind you," he said, his gums flapping, "that you work for my dad, and as his son, I can say just about about anything to get you and that Jace guy fired."

Hammond pursed his lips to stop himself from frowning.

His name is Trace, not Jace, he thought internally.

Michael continued, "I need someone to look after my kid while I'm at work, but the regular babysitter called in sick. Think you and your buddy can handle that job?"

Hammond didn't hide his frown this time.

"Sir. We're much too busy to look after-"

"Perfect! Drop him off at this address by six this evening!" The man shoved a piece of paper into Hammond's hand before he could protest, and then left, calling out, "Have fun, son!" as he did so.

Hammond sighed as he stuffed the piece of paper in his pocket and looked at the kid, who was still playing his game.

If the kid was anything like his dad, this was going to be a very long day.

* * *

  
"You agreed to _what_?" Trace asked, not bothering to close his jaw after it had dropped in shock.

The kid was sitting at a nearby table that Trace wasn't using, still playing on that gameboy.

"I didn't agree to it! He just up and left the kid here, and went to his work!" Hammond refuted, pulling the piece of paper out of his pocket to show to Trace. "He said to take the kid to this address by six."

Trace snatched the paper, and narrowed his eyes as he read it.

"Does... Does he not know that our shift ends at six, and it's a two-hour drive down the mountain to that place?"

"Do you think he cares?"

Trace sighed and pocketed the paper. "Did you call Mr. F?"

"Three times. He didn't pick up. And besides, anything we say is probably just gonna get twisted by Michael."

"Sooo.... We're stuck with the kid for the entire day."

"Yep."

Trace groaned and shook his head as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Hearing the beeps and boops of the gameboy, he turned to look at the kid, and told Hammond, "You know what? He's got his gameboy to distract him. Maybe it won't be so bad."

Wronger words had never been spoken.

* * *

  
"Hey, Mister."

Trace stopped typing on his computer and looked down when he felt a tug on his lab coat.

The kid was there, holding up his gameboy as though he expected Trace to do something with it.

"Do you have a gameboy charger?"

Trace pulled his lab coat away and shook his head.

"Sorry, kid-"

"Nicholas."

"Sorry, Nicky, but I haven't got a charger."

"But I wanna play _Pokemon_!"

The kid practically slammed the gameboy onto Trace's keyboard, messing up some lines of code.

"My work!" Trace exclaimed, shoving the gameboy off the keyboard and hastily trying to fix the code.

He didn't get too far, however, when Nicky slammed the gameboy on the keyboard again, and retreated, "I wanna play _Pokemon_!"

Trace clenched his fists and turned to the boy.

"Nicky, even if I wanted to, I couldn't charge your gameboy without having an actual charger!"

Nicky stamped his foot, and glared, only to stop and raise an eyebrow as he pointed at Trace's cheek.

"Why do you have hair on your cheeks?" Nicky asked, as though he didn't just throw a tantrum about his gameboy.

Trace tapped his cheeks, feeling his perfectly-trimmed sideburns.

"My sideburns? I just like having sideburns," Trace answered, as-a-matter-of-factly.

"My dad says they look stupid."

"Did he now?" Trace asked, through gritted teeth, as he self-consciously stroked his sideburns.

"Yeah, he did." Nicky reached for Trace's sideburns. "Are they real?"

"What? Of course, they- OW, STOP! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Trace screamed as Nicky pulled his sideburns.

"Did you glue them on your face?" Nicky asked curiously.

"OW! No, of course not! Stop! Hammond! Get in here!"

* * *

  
"If you let go of him, I'll get you some McDonald's on the way home, okay?" Hammond coaxed Nicky, who finally let go of Trace after what seemed like forever.

Trace rubbed his pained face as he held back a whimper, glaring at Nicky as Hammond took him.

"You," Trace said, pointing at Hammond. "Take him. It's your turn to deal with him."

Hammond just nodded, aware that Trace was pretty pissed in addition to being in pain.

As he led Nicky out of the room, Nicky was rambling on about wanting a kid's meal and a milkshake in addition to a regular burger.

* * *

  
Hammond set some papers and three pens (A black, red, and blue one.) on the table Nicky was sitting at.

"Look, Trace and I are really busy, okay? So while we work, you can draw," Hammond explained.

Nicky wordlessly picked up a pen and started doodling.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Hammond got back to work, thinking that everything would be fine and dandy after that. Unfortunately, he was wrong, because Nicky went to Trace's as soon as Hammond's back was turned.

Less than ten minutes later, Trace slammed the door to his office open, with hot coffee spilled on his shirt as he yelled for Hammond.

"HAMMOND! START THE CAR! NOW!"

* * *

  
Hammond barely had time to buckle up his seatbelt when Trace slammed a foot on the pedal, sending the car speeding down the mountain.

"Uh, Trace?" Hammond asked, once he had managed to fasten his seatbelt. "Where are we going?"

Trace just threw the crumpled piece of paper with the address on it as a response.

"But it's only three."

"And I had my hot coffee spilled on me after I told him I didn't have any colored pens," Trace snapped back.

Nicky, who was sitting in the backseat, casually twiddled his thumbs innocently, as though he didn't just give Trace a second-degree burn.

As soon as Trace got the car on the road, Nicky suddenly demanded, "I wanna have McDonald's."

"You'll have it when I'm dead," Trace deadpanned, keeping his eyes on the road.

Nicky frowned and rolled down a window, then stuck his head out and yelled, "HELP! I'm being kidna-"

"Fine, I'll get you McDonalds!"

* * *

  
Trace massaged his temples as Hammond sympathetically patted him on the back, as both of them had to endure Nicky noisily wolfing down his food, no doubt leaving grease stains on the back seat.

"Oh, thank God," Trace said, as the house at the address finally came into view.

Trace parked next to the curb in front of the house, ignoring any possible parking violations as he and Hammond got out of the car.

"Alright, Nicky. You're home," Trace stated flatly, opening the back seat door so that Nicky could exit the car and finally free Trace and Hammond from this nightmare.

Nicky just blankly looked at Trace before he shook his head, and continued greedily munching on his food, intent on finishing it before he got out of the car.

Hammond sighed as Trace groaned, and decided to walk up to the house's door.

Hammond knocked on the door, almost expecting no answer, but miraculously, the door opened.

"Hammond?"

"Mr. F?"

In front of Hammond was a sixty-something year-old man, who looked just as confused as he was.

Mr. F raised an eyebrow as he looked at the car next to the curb.

"Is that my grandson?"

Hammond shrugged. "Yeah. Michael just dumped him at the lab without notice."

"He did what?! Oh goodness, I'm so sorry!"

Mr. F took his wallet out of his pocket and fished out a few hundred dollars, before handing them to Hammond.

"Here, take these. I'm sorry Michael did that! You two can have the day off tomorrow. Trace seems like he needs it.

* * *

  
The second Trace and Hammond got back home, Trace immediately flopped onto the couch, and let out a loud snore.

Considering that he didn't even bother to change out of his clothes or insist on getting any work done, he must've been completely exhausted.

Hammond sighed as he petted Wilson, who was asleep on the other couch.

Thankful that they had the next day off, Hammond laid down next to Wilson, curled up into a ball, and went to sleep.


	28. Party

Hammond awkwardly approached a group of eleventh-graders, silently hoping this endeavour would go well.

What should he say, though?

"How's life?"

Nah, too casual.

"Hi."

Nah, that wouldn't work either.

Hammond looked at the group of his fellow teenagers, and held his breath as he walked towards them, deciding to just wing it.

Hammond cleared his throat, grabbing the attention of the teenagers.

They all stopped chatting, and looked at him with raised eyebrows. Hammond forced up every bit of confidence inside of him, before finally opening his mouth and saying the first thing that came to mind.

"What's shakin', my dudes?"

Hammond cringed internally.

Shit.

_Shit._

_Shiiiiiit._

That wasn't something that teenagers would say.

That was something adults trying to be hip and cool with the kids would say.

Hammond looked at the teenagers. Maybe he could salvage something out of this?

"I- I'm Hammond," he introduced himself, holding out a hand to shake, before retracting it when realizing it was the hand holding his beer cup.

"Uh-huh," one of the teens commented, taking a sip from his own cup. "What do you want?"

"Oh, uh, nothing! Are you guys, er, enjoying the party?"

"We're the ones actually hosting it," another one in the group answered.

"Oh, uh..." Hammond stammered awkwardly. "Do you guys... wanna hang out?"

The teens looked at each other in confusion before one of them pointed at Hammond questioned, "Who invited Bowl-Cut here?"

"Isn't he Trace's plus-one?"

"Ah, right. Still can't believe he actually chose Bowl-Cut for his plus-one." The teen turned to Hammond. "Yeah, no. We kind of got our own thing going on with our little group, so can you, like... get lost?"

Hammond felt his heart break slightly as he desperately tried to stop the sad frown from appearing on his face, and managed to successfully do so.

"Oh, sure! I'm just... gonna go to...." Hammond trailed off when he realized that they weren't listening to him anymore. Sighing, he just walked away without another word, and looked around.

The party going on was... a bit of a mess, to be honest. Anyone who wasn't drunk was talking to someone else, while their drunk plus-ones were off in some bathroom vomiting because of alcohol consumption.

Their ages varied from "legally-allowed to drink" to "definitely not legally-allowed to drink."

Hammond was among the latter, though he wasn't actually going to drink anything alcoholic. The only reason he even had beer in his hand was because everyone else was holding a cup, and... that was how people made friends, right?

They tried to have at least one thing in common, however minor it may be.... Right?

Hammond wasn't actually too sure, now that he thought about it.

He looked around at the partygoers, all in groups and wrapped up in conversation. If his latest attempt at friendship was anything to go by, he probably wouldn't be allowed to join any of the groups.

He frowned sadly, and his shoulders visibly sagged.

He didn't even belong here. Trace was the one who got invited to this party, not him. Heck, Trace didn't even want to come, but did anyway because Hammond wanted to come.

Truth be told... Hammond was beginning to regret his decision. He looked around, eyes darting from partygoer to partygoer, until had finally saw who he was looking for.

There, leaning against the wall with a beer cup in one hand and another hand behind his head, was Trace.

Hammond squeezed his way through the partygoers, who glared at him with annoyance despite his apologies for coming through.

"Trace!" Hammond called out as soon as he was close enough.

The bored expression on Trace's face switched to a pleasant smile as soon as he caught sight of his best friend.

"Hey, Hammond!" Trace greeted, moving a bit to the left to give Hammond some space to stand next to him. "How's the party?"

"It's- uh- it's alright, I guess. Bit weird though, since half the people here are probably blackout drunk by now."

"Yeah. I think it's probably good that we didn't tell our parents that there was gonna a crap-ton of alcohol here," Trace noted, taking a sip from his cup.

"Isn't that beer?" Hammond asked, concerned that Trace would get a bit tipsy.

"Hmm? Nah, it's water. I got a bottle of water in with me," Trace answered, pulling out a bottle of water from his jacket. "Want some?"

Hammond nodded, setting his beer cup down somewhere, and Trace poured some more water in his cup before giving Hammond the rest to drink straight from the bottle.

"Thanks, Trace," Hammond said, before downing some of the water. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he asked, "Hey, Trace? At your old school, how did you... make friends?"

The pleasant smile on Trace's face was replaced with a thoughtful expression.

"Why do you ask?"

"I dunno, I was just... wondering what I was doing wrong when trying to make friends.... here."

"Is that why wanted to come here?" Trace asked, looking down at his shorter friend.

"Y-yeah..." Hammond reluctantly admitted.

"But... You have me as your friend."

"I know, I know! But... I just thought it would be nice if... maybe some more people actually liked me."

Hammond and Trace were both silent for a bit, awkwardly avoiding making eye-contact, until Trace spoke up, "Y'know, I didn't have any friends in my old school, either."

Hammond looked up to Trace.

"Really?" he asked.

"Yep. To everyone in my old school, I was always just that anti-social smartass who everyone made fun of for being a nerd."

"Huh. Everyone here thinks I'm a weirdo," Hammond added.

"Except me," Trace said. "You wanna know something, Hammond? All these people here- They're... not the best choices for friends, especially considering the last couple years."

Hammond tilted his head back, thinking of some old memories.

* * *

  
_Adelanto, California- February 26th, 1991_

"Whoa!" Hammond yelled, as he tripped over an outstretched leg, and landed on the floor, face-first in the tray of food he was holding.

Even with a bit of mashed potatoes in his ears, he could still hear everyone in the cafeteria laughing at him.

So basically, a regular Monday for him.

* * *

  
_Adelanto, California- May 23rd, 1992_

Hammond looked at his locker, hesitant to open it.

By all accounts, nothing looked suspicious, and it just looked like a regular, average locker.

But unfortunately, like every day on his birthday, there was definitely something wrong.

Hands shaking, he reached for his locker's lock, unlocked it, and opened the door.

His books and backpack looked completely untouched.

Was... Was he spared on this birthday?

Was his locker empty of anything unpleasant?

Yes, it sure seemed like no one had put anything gross in it this year!

Hammond smiled, reached into his locker to grab a book-

-and screamed when a few roaches crawled on his hand.

* * *

  
"Yep, you're right," Hammond agreed with Trace. "I guess... when your options for friends are limited, you kind of just get a 'really crappy is better than nothing' idea in your head."

"Huh," Trace uttered. "Is... that why you wanted to come to this party?"

Hammond sighed as he looked around and sipped some more water. "Maybe."

"Hey."

Hammond felt Trace's hand on his shoulder.

"Hammond, listen. I know how you feel, but look. After a lot of time having to put with shitty people who did shitty things to us, we eventually met each other. And I know that even though we have each other, we can still feel pretty lonely, but we don't have to resort to, well, the bottom of the barrel."

Hammond rested his head on Trace's hand. "I... guess I never really thought of things that way."

Trace let Hammond keep his head on his hand for a few moments more before eventually retracting his hand.

"Hammond, if I'm being honest, I can think of a whole lot of things better than being here. Wanna grab some ice cream then go over to my place and play some video games?"

Hammond smiled as Trace cocked his head towards the exit.

"Hell yeah I do."


	29. Au

It was hard enough fighting the variants when he barely even knew what was going on.

It was harder when he found out exactly what they were.

It was even harder when he found out exactly _who_ they were.

It almost made him feel glad that they were so horribly mutated that their faces were literally too melted to be recognizable.

Then again, that also made him feel worse, knowing they had to experience every painful second of inescapable body horror, unable to stop it, and probably not even able to comprehend what was going on.

Still, he had to fight them.

Despite still being able to hear a hint of the voice of the person they all used to be, he had to fight them, kill them, and try not to look as they exploded into nothing but red life force, letting out one final scream of terrified pain as they looked him right in the eye with their own wide eyes.

The last thing they ever did before they died was stare right into the face of Trace.

Their _murderer_.

It would have been better if the Rusalki never told him who those variants were clones of.

At least, that's what he used to think before realizing something he didn't want to accept.

Whether or not they told him, he would have found out eventually, especially after taking a trip to Edin.

* * *

  
Trace dropped down into the room from the ceiling and hit the ground at least fifty feet below him, thankful that dying from falling such a height seemed to be impossible on this planet.

Upon landing feet-first on the floor, he dropped the Axiom Disruptor on the floor, needing to use both of his hands to cover his mouth as he gagged.

The spacious room reeked with the putrid stench of rotting, mutated flesh; it was a smell that Trace only recognized because he was all-too-familiar with it.

Eyes darting around the area, Trace searched until he finally located the source of the smell.

Two green rebirth chambers, with a giant, pulsating, red, cocoon-like mass in each of them.

Trace breathed a sigh of relief once he finished gagging.

It still smelled worse than the inside of a slaughterhouse, but at least it wasn't another mutated variant.

Picking up his trusty weapon of choice, Trace aimed at one of the masses, and shot it a few times, before quickly stepping back to avoid its remains splattering on him.

Turning his attention to the other cocoon, he faced it, aimed, shot it-

-and screamed as it exploded and splattered onto him, revealing a mutated variant that had been incubating inside of it.

No.

_No._

_Nononononono-_

Trace screamed as the half-formed, mutated variant screeched, straining the spine holding up its head as it reached for him.

He screamed as it screeched, the screech sounding like a mixture between a choked gargle and screams of agony.

Screams of agony that reminded Trace who this variant was a clone of.

 _Hammond_.

"Oh- oh my God!" Trace exclaimed, unable to tear his wide eyes away from the sight of his best friend being a horribly-mutated abomination. "What the hell is this?"

"Trace..." Ophelia answered him, her voice a deafening boom in his throbbing head as he desperately tried to pretend that none of this was real. "That is... an aborted clone of Athetos' former colleague."

"This is how Athetos makes soldiers," Elsenova explained.

"O-oh," Trace mumbled, still unable to take his eyes off of the nightmarish sight. "What- what do I do? Can- can't he be healed?!"

" _No_."

Ophelia's curt answer made his heart stop beating for a moment.

"It is too late," Ophelia flatly continued. "He's dying. He should not even have survived this long."

Ophelia was silent after that, leaving the only sound in the room being Trace's shallow breathing and Hammond's screeches.

Trace shook his head as he stumbled back, desperately wanting the sight in front of him to somehow disappear.

"N-no," he muttered, "no-no-no-"

Hammond continued to screech, and Trace finally managed to turn away from him, only to stop in his tracks when he heard it.

"T-Trace....?"

Trace turned, eyes wide.

Did- Did Hammond just-

"T-Trace...?" Hammond stuttered again between incoherent screeches.

It was then that Trace noticed his face.

Unlike the other variants, his face was mostly intact, with only a bit of it swelling up on the side and splitting to reveal the a bit of the muscle underneath.

The expression on that face... looked sad and afraid.

Trace slowly approached the mutated variant.

"H-Hammond?"

Hammond let out another screech, reaching more for Trace now.

Trace slowed his pace until he was directly in front of Hammond, still holding the AD in case he was attacked.

Hammond screeched again, tears beginning to stream down his cheeks.

"T-Trace..." Hammond gargled out between screeches. "Miss you..."

"H-Hammond," Trace hiccuped, his eyes beginning to well up with tears. 

Immediately, Trace wrapped his arms around the exposed spine to hug him, and Hammond's screeches turned into agonized shrieks.

Trace immediately let go, stumbling back in shock as more tears began to stream down both his and Hanmond's cheeks.

"T-Trace..." Hammond gargled again. "Hurt... Scared.... Help..."

Trace stared at Hammond. 

Athetos-

No.

Him.

He did this.

It was entirely his fault that this was happening.

That Hammond was terrified.

That Hammond was in pain.

Hammond might have been mutated, but it was Trace who was the monster.

"I- I-" Trace stammered, choking up.

He wiped a tear from his eye, and that's when he saw it.

The Axiom Disruptor, just waiting to be used.

Trace picked up the Axiom Disruptor, and aimed it at Hammond.

"T-Trace...?"

"I'm sorry," Trace hiccuped, unable to suppress his sobs as he aimed at Hammond, closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand that's the end of Brotp March!  
> Thank you for reading, and thank you to Lovelyliliana101 on Tumblr for coming up with the prompts list!

**Author's Note:**

> Occasionally, I write ficlets starring these two every now and then, so I figured I'd put 'em up here when I write them! I'll occasionally update this when I write something new.


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